


unhappier than most [discontinued]

by hiraethia



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Acting AU, Actor Andrew Minyard, Actor Neil Josten, Angst, Anxiety, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gen, Healing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, POV Neil Josten, Recovery, additional warnings in each chapter, andrew smiles sue me, idk much about filming but i try my best, softness and sadness, the foxes are one big family!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25253554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiraethia/pseuds/hiraethia
Summary: five years ago, neil josten made a promise to never take another role again - even if that meant losing himself.but now, with his co-star andrew minyard at his side, and a new family behind him, he begins to think maybe getting better isn't so impossible after all.(two love stories: one fictional on-screen, and one real off-screen).[edit: DISCONTINUED]
Relationships: Neil Josten & The Foxes (All For The Game), Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 96
Kudos: 228





	1. liability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's been five years since neil last took on a role, and he isn't planning changing a thing - until something breaks his pattern.
> 
>  **warnings** : past child abuse, passive suicidal ideation (a brief instance), discussion of past character death, neil generally has no sense of self-worth. also brief, very vague mentions of the foxes' backstories (kevin, matt, allison, and andrew respectively)
> 
> i'm trying to cover all bases here. in this first part neil is in a pretty bad place - let me know if i missed anything x

Neil Josten had always been unhappier than most people.

Lying for the press was his mother tongue. Grief was his home, more than he was its place. Winter waged war in his bones like he was a battleground, and the scars marking up his body confirmed it. 

In the midst of it all, acting had been his one solace - and he’d abandoned it too.

A tragic tale, a warning sign, a lost cause. Those were the realities that, one by one, Neil had learned he’d have to live with. 

It didn’t exactly help that he’d decided, that day, to drive down to the very detention center his father was being kept in, and had spent the past hour vacillating between going in and running away. 

_A self-fulfilling prophecy._ He’d add that to the list. His mouth twitched listlessly with a heartless smile at the thought. 

Neil hadn’t seen Nathan for five years, not since he’d been thrown into prison on life without parole. And he wasn’t keen on reliving the years of abuse he’d been forced to swallow, at his father’s hands. 

So he didn’t exactly know why he was standing just outside the entrance to the complex, his fourth cigarette sputtering faintly between trembling fingers as he stared out at the empty parking lot through the biggest pair of shades he could find. 

Smoking had never been his thing. Cigarettes and tough love and blood welling between pearly teeth had always belonged to Mary. He only did it to remind himself: there was at least one part of her that his father hadn’t been able to destroy.

(But even that was too manufactured at some point).

Strength wasn’t his either.

Neil was only standing because he had to. Because his mother had left him no other choice but some sick obligation to keep living - because she hadn’t. 

But he was nothing, no one, nil. He was the sea, exhausted underneath its own gravity. Always crashing, always churning, always torn apart and gouged open in the ugliest abysses and trenches. He was broken and no amount of money or years locked away in his own apartment would fix him.

Out of the three of them, Mary had all the strength.

She’d taken it six feet under with her when Nathan killed her.

Somewhere along the line, Neil had disappeared too. He was no longer a person, just another character in some sad story. 

Because no one ever asked if the sea could remember all the things it had lost. No one ever asked if the sea was tired of harboring cemeteries and hauntings and dead stars, when it had only ever wanted to swallow flower petals and moonlight.

(No one had ever asked _him_ ).

With a sharp breath, Neil dropped the cigarette and crushed it underneath his boot. He could imagine the headlines already. Some paparazzi would probably have followed him here, and - _wow_ , _Nathan Wesninski’s son was spotted moping pathetically outside the prison where his father is serving life. What does it all mean?_

((He’d love to know too)).

Neil eventually headed back to his car without looking back, slumping in the driver’s seat with a sigh. After a moment that stretched on for eternity, he slid off his sunglasses. He glanced at himself in the rear view mirror, a familiar curl of disgust flickering to life within him at the sight. 

Auburn hair, tan skin, ocean eyes. The only things separating him from his father were the foul scars etched across his face - three knife wounds stretching a little too close to one eye, a patch of burns from cigarettes and lighters that never quite stopped aching - and even those scars were still Nathan’s. 

(He guessed it didn’t really count, that he hadn’t seen his father since his trial). 

((That face would always follow him - every time he saw his own reflection)).

Tearing his gaze away from the mirror, Neil started the car, turning his keys a little too violently as the engine roared to life. He peeled away from the curb and tried to ignore the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck, clenching his knuckles around the wheel until they bled white.

\--

His apartment wasn’t actually that big by any celebrity standards, but for someone who was below average height and had spent most of his childhood trying not to occupy space except on a set, it was. It wasn’t very nice to look at either - clean, undecorated walls, a bland bedroom, only necessary furniture, and a balcony with a withering houseplant. 

Neil had gone outside, dressed in a simple baggy hoodie and shorts, to watch the sunset drape itself over the city. He was absently tracing a finger over some of the scars running across his thighs when his thoughts started buzzing a little too loudly.

It took him a second to register that the sound wasn’t actually in his head, but rather coming from his phone. 

It took a minute longer for it to click - it was coming from his _phone._

Someone was calling him. 

Neil didn’t usually get any notifications now, only interview requests from shitty tabloids and occasional texts from former cast mates checking in on how he was doing. 

(He never answered them). 

Pushing himself to his feet, he left the sunset and dying houseplant forgotten as he headed back inside. His phone was still vibrating obnoxiously on the kitchen table by the time he got there, and a number he didn’t recognize flashed across the screen. 

His hand moved on its own accord, swiping to answer the call. 

“Hello?” 

The voice on the other end seemed surprised that he’d answered at all - which was fair, Neil supposed. “Oh - good evening! Is this Neil Josten?”

He paused, taking his phone away from his ear and eyeing the caller ID one more time. “Who is this?” 

“I’m Dan Wilds, calling from the Foxes Entertainment Agency.”

It was like someone had dropped an anvil on his heart. 

Neil wasn’t part of the industry anymore, but he knew who the Foxes were. Most people did. David Wymack had built the agency from the ground-up as a halfway house of sorts for the most damaged, broken people who needed a second chance, or just someone to vouch for their talent. He’d been called, in ruder words, an idealistic dreamer for it, for believing so wholeheartedly in something that he’d give up his reputation and job for it. 

It’d taken Wymack and the Foxes years of criticism, failures, and disbelief to crawl out of rock bottom - and now they were some of the biggest names in the industry. Kevin Day. Allison Reynolds. Matt Boyd. Andrew Minyard. 

Neil had worked with only one of them before, but he knew about the others. Kevin, kept a secret from his father for a childhood spent with an abusive, horrible agency under the guise of cultivating fame. Allison, disgraced and disowned from a family that had convinced her that beauty had to come at a cost of herself. Matt, a failed solution to his parents’ dissolving marriage and a former addict that had turned to acting to save himself. Andrew, separated from his twin at birth and left to fend for himself in broken foster home after foster home. 

And they were Foxes - people who had fought their way into starlight and spring despite being stuck at the bottom of the trench, despite being told by everyone else that mud and bones and dust were all they would ever taste.

Wymack’s agency was a good cause that someone, unfortunately, would always need. 

But that someone wasn’t him. 

When Neil didn’t say anything, Dan continued, “I’m one of the directors of our new upcoming show, _Unhappier Than Most_. We want to offer you a place on our cast, and we’d love to set up a face-to-face meeting with you to talk more about it, whenever’s good for you. Our team thinks you are the ideal fit for our leading role of Ray An, and - ”

Neil cut her off. “I don’t act anymore. I quit five years ago.” He hated the way his voice trembled at the end, and dug his nails harshly into his palm. “Find someone else, and don’t call me again.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond before turning off his phone and throwing it aside, resting his head in his hands. 

Anxiety was a starving monster and it tore him to shreds on the inside. Neil didn’t stop to think things through before heading to his door, leaving his phone neglected on the table, and slipping on his running shoes. Breathing shakily, he dug one hand into his shoulder where his father had burned an iron right into his skin, letting the ache ground him.

Then he slammed the door shut and took off, retracing secret routes that no one else knew. 

Above him, the sky deadened into night, and it blanketed the city in black.

\--

He’d debuted when he was only ten. 

It was some period drama that had ended up becoming a huge success. Neil remembered his first time on set, marveling at how big and wondrous everything looked underneath the studio lights. Like he’d stumbled upon some entirely new world that was eons apart from the one back home - which, really, was how sets worked. 

He remembered how terrified he’d been in front of the camera, and he also remembered the way the director had grinned at him once the shoot was over, lauding him on how completely and utterly natural he was. 

He remembered going home with his mother that night, rattling off about how the crew and cast members had said he’d done a good job.

He remembered the look Mary had given him, the smile that twitched with poisonous regret - the kind of look of someone who knew what was coming but was too late to stop it. 

“Nathaniel,” she’d said quietly that night. “They’re going to rip you apart.”

“They can’t,” he’d mumbled back. “You won’t let them.” 

Mary stilled, her eyes hardening. 

“No,” she said. “When I’m gone, _you_ cannot let them destroy you, because they will try.” Then, she’d glanced over her shoulder, like she was checking if someone was listening. “Especially your father. I’m not going to be around to fix you anymore, so you need to promise me that. Okay?”

“Okay,” Neil had promised, but he hadn’t understood what she’d meant - 

Because even when his father had hit him, abused him, marked him up and berated him, he’d told himself that there were some things Nathan could never destroy. He always had his mother. And like her, he always had acting: something that, at some point, he’d liked - maybe also loved.

(Even when his father cast a shadow on everything he’d ever done).

And even if that conviction began flickering and wavering as he’d grown older, he’d always told himself - his father couldn’t break him. Not completely, anyways.

But then -

Mary was dead, just as she’d predicted. Nathan was arrested, far too late, and Neil lost both his parents. 

(Her funeral hadn’t even been private - her fans had taken it over). 

His father’s trial essentially erased the years of work it’d taken Neil to carve himself a place in the industry, a name of his own. 

He’d detailed on national television every single thing his father had ever done to him and his mother. Every scar, every bruise, every moment of torture. 

He became nothing more than Nathan Wesninski’s son. Nathan Wesninski’s victim. Nathan Wesninski’s broken legacy. 

Nathan Wesninski’s Nathan Wesninski’s _Nathan Wesninski’s_. 

So after his father was locked up, Neil stopped. He changed his name and pretended that severing the _Nathan_ from his identity would do anything to fix him at all. He let himself disappear - completing a golden family, fallen to pieces.

He broke his promise to his mother, made another one of his own.

That he’d never take another role again.

\--

Predictably, they didn’t listen to him.

Only one day later, his phone rang again. Neil only picked up to give whoever it was an earful that went a little something like _how much more fucking explicit do I have to be about not wanting anything to do with you_ when -

“This is David Wymack.” 

Any words he’d prepared died in his mouth, and Neil inhaled sharply.

“What do you want?” he asked hoarsely after a moment.

“I just want to talk.”

“I don’t.”

There was a huff on the other end that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. “Dan told me you hung up on her before she could even say anything important.” 

Neil had nothing to say to that, so he remained quiet. Wymack only waited for a couple seconds before continuing, “Before you reject it, I wanted to call and let you know at least why we want to have you.” 

Dull pain flared in his hand, and Neil belatedly realized he was gripping his phone too tightly. Forcing himself to loosen his fingers, he took a deep breath and replied, “Okay. And I’ll let you know why you don’t want me there.”

Wymack took it in stride. “Since I called first, I think it’s only fair if you let me talk first.” 

“I asked your agency not to contact me again.” 

“How do you think we got anywhere at all?” Wymack asked. “It’s precisely because we _didn’t_ listen to what everyone else had to say.” 

Neil made a mental note to change his number soon. The tightness pulsing in his chest was getting harsher and harsher with each passing second, and he shut his eyes tightly, shoving his free hand underneath his leg before he could do anything stupid like try to claw the darkness right out of his chest. 

“You still with me, Neil?” 

Vehemently cursing every part of him that latched onto the man’s voice as an anchor, Neil inhaled deeply and hummed in affirmation. 

“We already have Allison Reynolds and Andrew Minyard confirmed in our cast. We’re just looking for our third leading actor to play Andrew’s counterpart.” Wymack paused, before continuing, “He was the one who suggested we ask you.” 

His eyes snapped open. “What?”

Andrew had been the last person Neil worked with before everything fell apart. They were co-stars but weren’t close, only interacting whenever necessary for shoots and interviews for their show, _Invented Truths_. Partially because they were supposed to be acting as two former friends who were forced via crisis to come back together; a little bit because the sheer amount of fans and reporters who called their chemistry together “palpable” and “genuine” made it awkward; mainly because Neil was sure Andrew hated him. 

He was only a year older than Neil, but he’d conducted himself like he held eons of experience and Neil was only holding him back. 

(It was probably true).

Neil’s mouth was dry, his heart pounding, as he muttered, “There are plenty of actors who would kill to work with Andrew Minyard.” 

Wymack’s short laugh tugged him out of his spiraling thoughts. “The stubborn fucker says he won’t work with anyone else.” 

“Then he will just have to deal with it.”

“Care to tell me now why I wouldn’t want you to sign with us?”

It was an easy answer. 

“Any smart agency wouldn’t want someone with a face as fucked up as mine. Any smart agency wouldn’t want someone who hasn’t touched a script for five years.” Neil listed the reasons off like he was rattling off the names of all his past projects. “Any smart agency wouldn’t want someone associated with Nathan Wesninski on their cast. And anyone who knew what was good for them wouldn’t want someone they know is a liability.”

“Alright. You’re not wrong,” Wymack said after a long pause. There was something else in his voice - something that sounded too tired and too old, like he’d seen this all before. “Maybe we’re not a smart agency. But I don’t give a damn about that. Kid, the only thing that matters to me is that we give people a second or hundredth chance that no one else would bother to give them. What matters isn’t how many they need, as long as it’s one more than what anyone else would’ve been willing to give.”

Anger flared dully in his ribcage, but it was a welcome change from the anxiety gnawing at his bones. “I’m not your charity case.”

“No, you aren’t,” he agreed. “And this isn’t some cash grab or publicity stunt.” Sighing, he said, “It’s a show about sports and coming-of-age. It’s a show Dan and Jeremy wanted to produce to put some much-needed representation out there too. Andrew agreed to it for that same reason. That’s all there is to it. 

“My Foxes do everything for their own sake because they know what it means to reclaim and overcome. Isn’t that what art and recovery is all about?” He didn’t give Neil the chance to answer - not that he could’ve. “Just give it some thought. I don’t care how long it takes as long as it’s by the end of the month. If you change your mind, let me know. We will arrange a table read. If you still don’t want to, let me know too. My ears are open either way. You know how to find me.” 

Neil could only stare numbly at his phone once Wymack hung up. He didn’t know how long he sat there, just gazing at his reflection in the darkened screen, before suddenly flinging his device away and stumbling outside. 

Pressing his back against the wall, he slid down slowly until he was curled up on the ground. He tucked his knees up to his chest, mind buzzing with everything and nothing at the same time as he stared blankly at his living room. 

(He wondered if he was going to break another promise).

((He wondered how long he could go on, stringing together cobwebs of vows only to wreck them every single time)).

It was raining outside. Watery light spilled across the floor, covering the wood in dancing ribbons of liquid silver. 

It was the most life he’d seen in his apartment since grief had moved in permanently. 

As Neil looked on, Wymack’s words echoing viciously in his head, he couldn’t help the ridiculous thought that -

In another life, he would’ve been a great minimalist. 

In this life, though, this place wasn’t at all the luxury expected for someone like him. 

But then again, he didn’t have any friends, only co-workers, his father was a monster who critics still loved, his mother was dead -

And, sometimes, Neil couldn’t understand why his father just didn’t kill him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: neil meets some of the foxes.
> 
> just wanted to address a couple of the most major changes from canon!
> 
> while mary is a better mother in here than in canon, and she isn’t physically abusive with neil, her relationship with neil is definitely still unhealthy - this is something that will be dived into & addressed deeper as the fic progresses! nathan is not part of the mafia but is still a monumental sack of shit. the moriyamas aren't a thing in this au, edgar allan was still an agency but kevin got out and reunited with wymack pretty early on. the changes to andrew & co's backstory will also be revealed in upcoming chapters!! 
> 
> and finally, seth will be alive in this fic. while he was nasty in canon i do believe he was robbed of the opportunity to grow like the rest of the foxes, so he's gonna get that in here :) he is better in this verse - you'll meet him next chapter
> 
> that's all for now. hope you guys enjoyed! <3 i actually pre-wrote quite a bit already so expect regular weekly updates for the foreseeable future x


	2. hello again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> neil is introduced to the foxes.
> 
>  **warnings** : discussion of past character death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since this fic follows the actual behind the scenes filming process of the "show" (also called unhappier than most bc i love layers), i will be including snippets of the script dan & jeremy would've written. i tried to be as accurate as i could to actual screenplay examples i found (i was heavily inspired by greta gerwig's little women screenplay which is amazing) but it still may have inaccuracies!
> 
> i highly recommend reading thru them bc the scenes do give context for where they are in the 'show' and also their relationship!! in upcoming chapters, the lines ray and aidan have will also be played around with by neil and andrew! yay for acting
> 
> and just so it's clear, neil is cast as _ray an_ , andrew is cast as _aidan young_ , and allison is cast as _luna young_. if you want any clarifications abt any of this feel free to let me know! :') alrighty enough talking, on with the chapter

EXT. CALIFORNIA. TRACK FIELD. 2016.

 **RAY AN** , a boy with dark hair and darker eyes, just over the threshold of adulthood, is staring up at the stars.

The only light comes from the moon. The rest of the track field is dark, meant to be closed off. Ray is lying on his back, the turf his bed and stadium his home. It is all he has.

Silence reigns except for the chirping crickets. Any outsider who observes shallowly will think he looks expressionless. A closer view shows everything we need to know. Loneliness, and smallness.

Ray slowly sits up. From the back, he looks like an eclipse. A pause, then:

RAY (VOICEOVER)

My name is Ray. I’m 19 years-old. I’m a sophomore at Cambria Sports University. I was just fine with running for a living, but I’m not sure anymore.

\--

Neil found himself back at Mary’s graveside for the first time since last December. 

He’d buried her on the beach, because for some reason she’d always liked being by the ocean.

It wasn’t the prettiest place. The skies hanging over the waves were more gray than not. The sea drank in the darkness and lost its blue. It was a lonely stretch of land that no one really visited, but the sand was still so fine it felt like walking on rain clouds. 

But it suited her. 

Because it was the real Mary Hatford. Not the woman who could sweep award ceremonies with a dazzling smile. Not the actress who commanded attention with just a single look. 

If Neil was a sea grown tired of itself, then Mary was the cove no one visited. Loved in the shallows, unknown everywhere else. She was a pile of bones - the only part of her he got to keep - buried beneath clouds and abandoned shells that could pierce skin if carelessly handled. 

(She was an unmarked grave and a nameless beach, and Neil refused to let anyone else find her again).

Predictably, it was overcast that day too. Neil sat down a few inches from the spot where she rested, the point where the waves gave up on kissing the sand and retreated back to the place where the bodies of dead stars lay. Absently tracing his fingertips along a fragment of a shell he’d found, Neil stared at the fuzzy horizon. Salty wind curved its hand into his hair, brushing against his forehead mockingly.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Wymack’s damned call, enough that he’d already memorized everything the man had said - a childhood spent acting at least had some perks, memory-wise. 

Reclaiming and overcoming, Wymack had said. _Isn’t that what art and recovery was all about?_

There were some things Neil knew were objective truths.

He knew that his own abilities meant he could slip into any role no matter how far off it was from himself. He knew that while grief had become his home, there had to be a time when he needed to move out. He knew that the sea would never quite disappear, no matter how much it wished to - 

Because he supposed, for all the graves and rotting springtides it had swallowed, there were some good days, too. Days where dawn came a minute earlier than expected, and gravity wasn’t so heavy. 

But knowing and understanding and _believing_ were different things entirely. 

He knew that at some point, somehow, he would heal, but winter had become so synonymous with _Neil Josten_ that he didn’t believe he could. 

Because he had become defined by everything but himself. He looked back, but there wasn’t a part of him he could see that hadn’t become tainted in sour hindsight. 

Maybe Wymack could’ve been onto something. Maybe he saw something Neil couldn’t. Maybe Neil was tired of being Nathan Wesninski’s damaged goods. 

But there was this horrible ache in his chest that he just couldn’t get rid of. Grief, knocking on his heart, rattling his ribcage, reminding him that it would always want to stay by his side. 

And if he wanted to get rid of it, the only way he knew how, it wouldn’t just hurt -

It’d ache like ripping the moon apart from the tides, like tearing a wound wide open once again.

Neil had told himself he would never step into the spotlight again. Joining the Foxes meant breaking that vow. It meant coming back, piecing together everything he’d lost, letting the world _see_ him again.

But it also meant second chances. Another start. Maybe even taking a step out of the trenches. 

(Neil couldn’t deny that there was some part of him that wanted to say _yes_. Some part of him that yearned to be back on a set, falling into a new world and old rhythms).

((He’d spent years ignoring that part, burying it deep and walling it up. 

But there it was, welling right back)).

Another promise - 

Mary had made him swear that he wouldn’t let anyone destroy him. 

_Especially your father_ , she’d insisted. 

Maybe she should have also added -

 _Especially yourself_. 

A hollow smile tugged at his lips as Neil closed his eyes. Tracing patterns in the sand, he whispered, “I’ve really slipped, haven’t I?”

No answer. 

His hand brushed against a shard of sea glass. Lifting it up, he peered through it, and for a moment, the blue seeped back into the sea. 

If Neil looked hard enough, he would find the remnants of the vow he’d made for his mother. Every last piece of it. 

(Perhaps he could piece them together again).

Rubbing grains of sand off his fingers, Neil tucked his hands back over his knees. The wind seemed to blow colder that day, nipping at him, even though it was the heart of summer. He didn’t mind it, though. 

Yes _._ I’ll do it. _Yes_.

He mulled over those words, turning and twisting them over and over again until they sounded like nothing at all. 

It was awfully unfamiliar, reaching back inside himself and digging those affirmations out. Tightness unfurled in his chest again, coming and going with the waves. 

But this time, for a fleeting moment, there was something else. Something strangely light and soft and every inch foreign.

He dared to call it - 

Hope.

Neil reached out as the tide washed up to him again, stretching further up that time. He managed to catch some of the sea foam it abandoned on the coast, and he watched as the froth dissipated over his fingertips.

Oh, this would _hurt_. He was no stranger to pain. He knew that. _Yet_ \- 

Hope was a dangerous, disquieting thing. 

And he thought, even if it was only a bright, seconds-long spot in the midst of his most wintry years, even if it didn’t mean everything or anything about him at all would be instantly fixed -

He thought perhaps he liked it. 

\--

On the last day of the month, Neil finally got back to the Foxes.

He didn’t call Wymack again - he couldn’t trust himself not to back out as soon as he had to say it out loud - so he emailed the agency with a simple message instead. 

To: davidwymack@foxes.ent, danwilds@foxes.ent, jeremyknox@foxes.ent

From: [ n.josten@gmail.com ](mailto:n.josten@gmail.com)

_No Subject_

Send me the script.

Their reply came just a day later. Neil blew through most of the actual message they’d written to him and just opened the file instead. Curling up on the couch, with only the light from his laptop illuminating him and a steaming cup of black coffee in his hands, he began reading.

Instinctively, almost mechanically, he began taking apart his role, breaking down his character into parsels of information to translate later. It was a dusty old routine he’d dug out of the basement, but one he knew intimately. 

Ray An. 19 years-old. Sophomore. Track star. Abandoned by his mother.

Running, his only solace. Wounded, but hiding it away. Lonely, but staying just out of reach of anyone else. 

The longer Neil read, the more familiar Ray became. Words were his own, and scenes were memories, and he couldn’t help but keep reading on despite the ever-present heaviness in his chest. 

His mother had always said that the more similar a role was to herself, the harder it became. She needed a degree of separation, a wall, from whoever it was she had to play. She needed to excise her own pain from her character’s, sever her own biases from her work.

So when the lines blurred, that was the worst part.

“Because you don’t know who’s in front of the camera anymore, Abram,” she’d said to him. “If it ends up being me, people won’t love the kind of person they see.”

By the time he finally set the script aside, it was midnight, and his coffee had gone cold. Neil sat back, tucking his hands over his chest. Shutting his eyes tightly, he let the feeling of his heartbeat thrumming beneath his palms ground him. 

Neil had wondered why Andrew asked Wymack for him specifically, why they’d insisted on calling him. 

Maybe this was the reason. 

Because Neil would have nowhere to hide. 

(Because he wouldn’t come back as Nathan Wesninski’s son).

((He’d come back as Neil Josten)).

He just needed to find that person again.

\--

The Foxhole Studio was tucked in one of California’s more hidden corners, separated from the rest of the city by a large metal gate and a street winding up a hillside. 

Palm trees lined the road like guards. Their gentle rustling permeated the balmy air, and the picturesque sunlight took upon a golden quality as it spilled forth between trunks and rolling hills.

Neil stepped out of his car, running a hand through his hair as he forced himself to take a deep breath. Some days, his anxiety was manageable. Other days it felt like there was an ever-expanding balloon in his chest, crushing his lungs and snuffing out his breath. This was one of those days. 

He glanced at himself in his side mirror. The sunglasses he wore obscured a good amount of his scars - he didn’t feel like getting dissected by paparazzi and desperate journalists should they spot him by chance - but it didn’t make him feel any better. 

Leaning against the door, Neil tightly squeezed his wrist with one hand just so he’d have something to do. He refused to move until the tightness around his throat receded, and by the time he’d counted up to one hundred and back in every language he knew, he was running late. 

He made his way up the hill toward the studio, eyes tracing the little bumps and cracks in the pavement leading up to its grand entrance. When he finally looked up from the ground, Neil couldn’t help but pause before going in.

He wasn’t usually impressed by anything anymore. He didn’t go out nearly enough for that to happen. But -

The Foxhole Studio was one of the most vibrant things he’d seen.

Walls larger than life, painted an eye-blinding orange, loomed over him, splitting the sunlight in half. A fountain stood in the center of its courtyard, the gentle stream of water obscuring the rumblings of distant highways. On each side of the fountain were glass doors and windows, all engraved with alternating patterns of paw prints and running foxes. 

It was enough for the anxiety squirming in his chest to stutter to a halt - just for a moment. 

But one moment was more than enough.

Allison Reynolds was waiting for him by the entrance, and next to her stood another man Neil didn’t recognize. She waved at him as soon as they spotted each other, wiggling her fingers while her lips - painted dark red - curved upwards. 

“If it isn’t Neil Josten himself,” she said as he made his way toward them. His skin prickled slightly under the sharpness of her gaze. Up close, she looked even more immaculate, with a nearly flawless face framed by perfectly done curls. 

“Hi,” he said, but Allison flashed him a brilliant smile like he’d run up to her and hugged her. She held out her hand expectantly. 

“You already know who I am, but I’ll say it anyway,” she said. “I’m going to be playing your third wheel.” 

Neil shook her hand, but only managed to say, “Excuse me?” 

“You know, Luna. Your future fictional boyfriend’s sister.” She let go of him and gestured toward the man next to her. “This is Seth Gordon, our resident grumpy PR manager. He’ll be taking care of you and Andrew.”

Seth probably would’ve been taller than Allison if it weren’t for the heels she was wearing. Silver piercings stood out brightly against his dark skin, and he pursed his lips as he looked Neil over, like he was already trying to measure how many more years of his life he’d lose trying to manage both Neil and Andrew at once. 

(With a faint flicker of amusement, Neil remembered how difficult and uncooperative Andrew had been with their last publicist).

((He wondered if that had changed at all)).

“Welcome to the fray,” Seth said after a moment. “I’d ask you not to make my life difficult, but that would mean you’ve come to the wrong place.” 

Allison sent him a smirk that he caught and returned with ease. Neil glanced between the two of them, but neither of them let an awkward silence settle. Seth turned, motioning toward the buildings around them. 

“This is our studio and headquarters - also known as our Foxhole,” he said. “Coach will meet you after we give you a crash course of the place.” 

“Coach?” Neil repeated as he followed them, ditching the Californian afternoon for the spacious, air-conditioned interior. 

“Wymack,” Allison clarified. “He hates being called CEO. Since he’s our glorified acting coach and apparently it’s unprofessional to call him ‘Dad’ during interviews, he got stuck with ‘Coach.’” 

“Allison’s nickname is ‘Catty Bitch,’ for your information,” Seth added. 

“As it should.” 

They took him around to see the various studios, meeting rooms, and dorms throughout the complex. Through most of the tour Neil was happy to remain quiet, only nodding and humming occasionally whenever they paused. 

On their way back from looking at some of the sets, Allison turned to him. “Since we’re going to basically spend every day together for the rest of the year, you might as well tell me about yourself.”

Both of them were looking at him now, and Neil shifted uncomfortably under the newfound attention. 

“I’m not that interesting,” he said quietly when it was clear they wouldn’t just take silence for an answer. “You already know the major details anyway.”

For a moment, Allison and Seth exchanged a look over his head. She turned back to Neil with a new expression - it wasn’t pity, just a careful understanding. 

“I just meant things like, what have you been up to?” she asked. “How about this: favorite color?”

Neil didn’t know why that was the thing she wanted to know about him, but he thought about ashen skies above nameless coves. The answer came automatically without him intending it. 

“Gray,” he muttered.

Allison looked like judgement was right on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t say anything. Seth just raised an eyebrow, quipping, “You’d better start getting used to orange soon.” 

Shrugging, Neil looked away. He traced a finger along the wall, adding, “Satellites can pick this up in outer space.”

Seth snorted loudly. “Come on, we’ll show you the best part of this place.” 

They took him into a long hallway covered wall-to-wall in photos. Neil didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t countless pictures of the Foxes, captured mid-work or mid-laugh. He could recognize some of their faces: Matt, grinning while a woman with hair shimmering with every shade of the rainbow did his makeup; Seth with a camera held up to his face, squinting in concentration; Kevin talking with his hands in a blur as Andrew stoically looked on beside him.

He hadn’t noticed Allison was watching him as he stepped out, gaze skimming over the photos. When Neil looked back toward her, there was a quiet but fierce smile on her face. She pointed at the last picture he’d been staring at. 

“Kevin and Andrew are practically brothers,” she said. “Kevin’s a piece of work - granted, we all are - but once he opens up, he’s the biggest nerd for film history. Andrew only tolerates it.” 

She then jerked her head upward. “Those are the two sweethearts of our team: Matt and Renee. Matt’s out with Kevin right now for a shoot, and Renee’s the head of our makeup and costume department. She’s the nicest out of all of us, just as long as you don’t get on her bad side.” 

“Dan and Nicky took most of these photos. You know, trying to show that we’re more than just our messes, and all that,” Seth said. “Oh, speak of the devil.” 

Neil followed his gaze to where a man was standing at the end of the hallway, typing away at his phone. He looked up at the sound of their voices, before breaking into a bright grin. 

“Is our baby Fox finally here?” He waltzed up to them and Neil was witness to the most elaborate handshake he’d ever seen between the man and Seth. Something that involved finger guns, a game of Slide, and trust falling on each other. 

“Don’t traumatize him yet, Nicky,” Allison said while they did their - thing. “He’s Andrew and Aaron’s cousin - Aaron and Abby are our lovely medics, by the way. He operates the cameras but he’s Seth’s PR buddy. He convinced Coach to let him manage social media on the side.”

“I see,” Neil said. It was difficult to imagine how someone as bubbly as Nicky could be related to Andrew, but Neil of all people knew how complicated family could be. 

While Nicky and Seth talked, Allison took the liberty of taking Neil further down the hall. “That’s Aaron and Abby right there. We call them the A-team,” she said after a moment, rapping her knuckle against the photo frame. Neil couldn’t help but linger on the way Aaron seemed to lean into Abby’s embrace, the way her face lit up with a genuine smile that wouldn’t be found on any red carpet. 

“Bee’s somewhere around, but she takes more photos than she actually is in them,” Allison said. “She’s our therapist. Coach has us see her twice a year as a mandatory sort of check-in, but if you need anything she’s always ready for appointments.”

The thought of sitting in front of a stranger while they tried to pick him and his cherry-picked secrets apart in confidence filled his mouth with a bitter taste. He dragged his gaze away when Allison showed him another photo. 

“Dan. She’s one of our best directors and writers,” she said. “She was with Coach when we were just getting started, and when she wins her Oscar she’ll make everyone who ever talked shit about her regret it.” 

Dan Wilds wasn’t looking at the camera in the picture, headphones hanging around her neck as she spoke to the crew around her. Hair curling over her forehead, mouth open mid-sentence, eyes flaming with passion, she was the exact opposite of his father. Where he was cold, calculated, and metallic in the soul, she was burning bright. 

(He’d always hated the frigid air of his father at work).

Allison noticed his silence, adding, “She’ll work you to the bone. But she knows what she’s doing.” The _she knows when to stop too_ went unspoken, but Neil heard it anyway.

“Thanks,” he said, unsure of what else was appropriate. 

“Now, Jeremy’s not technically with our agency - he’s with Trojans Productions - but this concept was something he and Dan just spontaneously came up with,” Allison said after regarding Neil carefully. “They’ve been friends for a while. He’s basically sunshine incarnate, so it’ll be fun.”

Footsteps approached them from behind, and they both glanced around to see Seth catching up to them. “I’ve released Nicky to go run Twitter,” he said. 

“Bad decision, you know,” Allison chastised. 

“I _do_ know, thank you very much, but it’ll be fun. Like watching a car crash happen.”

Eventually, they made their way back down to the main lobby. Neil trailed behind Allison and Seth, glancing up at the high, arching ceilings, glowing around the edges with orange lights. 

He tried imagining himself with the Foxes. They took him in so easily, like he was already one of their own. 

But they were one family that had been through hell and high water together, and he was an empty sea that stormed on his own. Maybe he could see himself on that wall. Maybe he shouldn’t have come at all.

(Because just as his father would always haunt his face, there was his voice, too, hissing and seething in the deepest parts of the winter that hugged his bones).

((It said that he was nothing)).

(((A lone liability))).

Knowing and understanding and believing were not the same. 

And Neil wasn’t sure where he stood on that.

He was drawn out of his thoughts when Seth stepped aside and gestured for him to go forward. 

Standing before them was Wymack, arms crossed over his chest. His skin was covered in tribal flame tattoos that seemed to move whenever he did, and there was a gruff look on his face - one that Neil figured came with age and fumbled fondness, rather than threats. 

Still, instinct told him to stay just out of arm’s reach, told him to look Wymack up and down and catalog his body language before doing or saying anything. 

“Those two didn’t give you any trouble, did they?” Wymack spoke casually, but Neil could tell, from the way he slowly uncrossed his arms to rest them loosely at his side, that he’d noticed his wariness. 

Shoving down any other apprehensions to deal with later, Neil stepped forward.

“I’m fine,” he said lightly. “Thanks for having me.”

It was too polite and fake and small of a greeting, coming from Neil, but Wymack took it regardless.

“Dan and Jeremy are waiting in the reading room. Didn’t want to overwhelm you right away, but maybe Allison and Seth did that already,” Wymack said dryly. Seth made an offended noise. “Welcome to the Foxes, Neil.” 

Behind him, someone else strode forward. Neil tracked the movement immediately, gaze landing on piercing hazel eyes and a cigarette trailing smoke from between unsmiling lips. 

The man standing in front of him hadn’t changed at all, from the boy he’d spent months with years ago. Only he’d grown slightly taller, and his blond hair was longer, sweeping over his forehead. But that air declaring that the world didn’t own him - _no_ , he could bear the weight of the entire universe if he wanted to - was still there. 

He didn’t say anything, only lowering his cigarette and tapping some of the ash onto the floor. The smoke he exhaled framed his face gracefully.

After a long beat of silence, in which Wymack only glanced between them with an indiscernible expression, Neil took off his sunglasses. Sliding back into old muscle memory, he smiled as sweetly as he could.

“Hello again, Andrew.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: the shoot begins.
> 
>  _my destiny_ by lyn plays: yOU AREEEE MY DESTINYYYYYYYY YOU AREEE MY EVERYTHINGGGGG
> 
> i'd just like to say that UTM the show was inspired by weightlifting fairy kim bok joo (the kdrama - a great watch i recommend)!! and you can think of ray and aidan as neil and andrew in a parallel universe bc why not, an au within an au


	3. butterfly hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the foxes have a table read and begin their shoot. neil tries to deal with it.
> 
>  **warnings** : anxiety, panic attack, discussions of past abuse

EXT. LACROSSE FIELD. AFTERNOON. 2016.

 **AIDAN YOUNG** , 20 years-old and vibrating with energy and nowhere to put it, removes his helmet. His hair is mussed from a long afternoon of practice. He watches his teammates clear the field and leaves his dutiful post by the goal. 

He passes by **COACH HERRERA**. 

COACH HERRERA  
(proudly)

Keep going at that pace, Aidan, and you will make the Olympics in no time.

That has been his goal for the longest time, and it aches strangely to hear it spoken out loud.

AIDAN

You know me, Coach.

\--

Neil managed to hold it together through the table read. Thanks to the nature of his work - and general life - he’d gotten absurdly good at compartmentalization. He lost himself in the familiarity of the motions, putting in just enough emotion that anyone could rest assured he hadn’t forgotten how to act. 

If it had been hard to read the script, it was even harder to act it out. But Neil was an expert at excising himself from his roles, building a careful barrier between Ray and himself, line by line. 

(Seeing how easily he’d lost himself - torn himself apart and scattered those pieces adrift - it was almost natural).

Neil hadn’t been sure how to talk to Andrew after meeting him in the lobby. _How have you been since I last saw you? Do you still hate doing press junkets? What have you been doing?_

But he hated that kind of small talk - it came out wrong on his tongue and was far unsuited for a man of Andrew’s caliber.

Luckily, Andrew saved him from having to think at all. He only held Neil’s gaze for a moment longer, with the same hidden confidence of a cartographer crossing paths with a scene he’d already memorized long ago, before turning and heading down the hall. 

“Shall we do some reading?” Reliably, Allison broke the silence, and Wymack ushered them in the direction Andrew had gone.

The room itself was already rather filled with their other cast members. Neil ignored their eyes on him, instead focusing on Dan and Jeremy, who were standing together in the front, heads together as they talked over the script. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Neil made his way over.

Jeremy saw him first, face brightening into a blinding smile - Allison hadn’t been lying - and practically threw himself over the chairs to get to Neil. 

“Neil!” he called with a breathless grin, reaching over and shaking his hand vigorously. “I’m so glad you came. You have no idea how much more complete our show will be with you in it too.”

No, he _didn’t_ know, but he didn’t say that. Neil only nodded, tightly replying, “Sure. Thanks, Jeremy.”

Dan joined them, leaning over to whisper something in Jeremy’s ear. 

“Right, I’ll go take care of that,” he said. “Really excited to see you, Neil.” 

Neil watched him go find Wymack, before he turned toward Dan, who was already watching him with a small smile. In person, even though she wasn’t standing behind a camera, Neil could already feel the flicker of her passion. It almost vibrated in the way she stood, the way she took in her surroundings.

“How are you doing?” she asked. 

“I’m fine.” 

“We’re running the show, so if you want to make any changes at all to the script, or if you just want to talk about anything, you can let us know.” She gestured toward a spot at the front. “You’re going to be next to Andrew - that won’t be a problem, right?”

(If sitting next to him was a problem, then acting like they were falling in love was an issue Neil didn’t even want to think about).

He glanced toward Andrew, who was studying the script without looking at anyone else. Something shifted in Neil’s chest at the sight.

“That’ll be fine,” he said again. He started to head over there, only stopping when Dan stepped in front of him again.

“How are you really, Neil?” she insisted. 

He knew what she meant. The sudden fierceness in her eyes said she didn’t care for niceties or politely packaged truths. She was strong enough to both ask for and hold his hauntings - because to her, he was one of them now.

The thought alone was enough to force an iron band around his lungs.

(It was too much, to fight to wake up every day and be Neil Josten when everywhere and everything else branded him a _Wesninski_ ).

((That was the answer - too ugly and unhappy in every space)).

“I gave Wymack a pretty detailed run-down of why you shouldn’t cast me,” he said instead. “I don’t imagine he told you.”

Dan blinked and tilted her head to the side. “He did tell me, actually. And for the record, I don’t believe it either.” When Neil only looked at her blankly, she continued, “It takes a lot of strength to keep going, even when the whole world is against you. That’s all I see, and that’s all I care about.”

There was one thing that united the Foxes, brought them together from patchwork, broken pasts and strung them together like a new constellation born overnight. They understood, just as intimately as he did, what it took to find spring when winter threatened to claw on forever.

(He just hadn’t gotten there yet. He hadn’t felt like he’d moved at all, really, since grief settled in).

Dan just reached out and clasped his shoulder when Neil remained quiet, and it took everything in him not to move away from her touch. 

“I trust you,” she said simply.

But she didn’t even know him.

Neil watched her as she went off to meet Allison, who had joined Jeremy and Wymack in their conversation by the doorway. His shoulder still seemed to burn where Dan had touched him - right over his iron scar - but he shook off the feeling and headed to sit down beside Andrew. 

The actual reading began ten minutes later. He tucked away the tightness locking up his entire body to have a breakdown over later. For the next few hours, there was nothing but the script in front of him and the people around him. 

He couldn’t help but stare as Andrew seemed to fuse into the role of Aidan Young. He’d forgotten how entrancing it was to watch Andrew act. Concentration haphazardly brushed aside the blankness in his eyes as he spoke his lines - he didn’t take over his character, he took _care_ of him. 

(That was the thing about Andrew. He acted like he couldn’t care less until he opened the script).

((Then he became the most professional, concise, and incisive actor Neil had ever seen)). 

The sun had set by the time they finished, spilling blood orange and pale lavender into the sky. Dan and Jeremy stood at the front, Dan busy scribbling any remaining notes into the script while Jeremy clapped his hands for everyone’s attention.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said. “We’re really excited to make this. No pressure, no influence, no expectations. This is just us. Let’s show them what we’re all about.”

Dan grinned widely. They were fire and embers all at once -

And Neil couldn’t help but wonder how someone as glacial as his father could’ve gone so far, when there was so much untamed warmth right here.

“We’re set to get started filming in late August, and we’ll put together the finalized film schedule shortly. Thanks for making it out here,” she said. Then, holding up a fist, she called, “Let’s do this, Foxes!”

The room burst to life as people got up, either moving to talk to one another or to find Dan and Jeremy. Neil managed to slip out in the midst of it, coming out to an empty lobby and air that suddenly felt twice as heavy in his lungs. 

He leaned against the wall for a moment, tipping his head back. When he opened his eyes, he spotted someone else standing near the entrance, looking out the glass walls. 

It was Andrew. 

Outlined in a halo of tender light, he cast a single shadow over the splotches of pink and orange that poured in through the windows. Sundown turned his hair to gold. For a moment, Neil thought that in another life - one where he wasn’t _Neil_ , lost at sea - if someone told him Andrew had colored the sunset, he would’ve believed them.

(The paint stains were right there, in his irises, brushed across his cheeks, dusted over his hands).

Neil found himself approaching Andrew, footsteps loud against the backdrop of voices from the reading room. Slowly, their shadows joined together. 

Andrew glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t move toward him, but neither did he move away. 

After a long moment, Neil broke the silence first.

“Wymack said you wouldn’t work with anyone else. Why?” It was the first actual thing he’d said to Andrew, outside of a script. When Andrew only turned to stare at him, Neil continued as casually as he could, “I thought you hated me.”

Hazel irises glowed like a tiger’s. Andrew looked him over deliberately.

“Maybe I do,” he said.

“Well, we’re going to have to act like we’re in love, you know,” Neil replied. “So just tolerate me, would you?”

Andrew lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Any other reasonable person probably would’ve been offended. But his words were so familiar, breaking apart the gap time had wedged between them, that Neil couldn’t help but feel amused.

“So how are we going to do this?” he asked.

It was a simple enough question, but between them, it meant a lot more.

Even if, in some other life, Neil hadn’t filmed with Andrew before, he still would understand a few things: Andrew disliked being touched. Andrew refused to do things unless he wanted to. Andrew would not force anyone else he worked with to do anything he disagreed with - script be damned. 

(And Neil understood this too: boundaries were made to be respected, whether or not they protected bodies, hearts, or anonymous coves).

Andrew turned to meet Neil’s gaze fully. 

“When we do scenes that will involve kissing or touching, you only touch wherever I say you can, and with my permission. We discuss everything with each other beforehand. If I do not want to do anything then you will listen,” he said. “If you do not want to do anything then tell me.”

Neil waited for more, but it didn’t come. Andrew only gazed at him like he was biding his time until something slipped and went wrong. 

“Okay,” Neil said when he didn’t say anything else. “I’ll remember.” 

“Okay,” Andrew repeated, almost mockingly. “Are you going to ask why?” 

“Tell me when you want to tell me,” Neil said. He began moving away, but before he left something made him turn around. Andrew was still watching him, eyes burning despite the dimming light, and, for some reason, Neil threw up a salute. “See you in August, Andrew.”

The sun had dipped below the rolling hills by the time Neil got back to his car. Slamming the door shut, he slid into the driver’s seat with a shuddering sigh. 

Hope and winter waged a bitter, nauseating war within him. For a moment, he thought he could’ve been sick. 

Neil lost track of how long he sat there, alone. Slowly, pink and gold faded into night. The lights inside the Foxhole Studio flickered to life, illuminating the entire street - but Neil was still shrouded in the shadows. 

He let his forehead drop to the steering wheel, forced himself to stop gripping it so tightly, and coughed as he taught himself to breathe once more.

\--

EXT. TRACK FIELD. AFTERNOON. 2016.

Ray slows down his running, eventually coming to a halt. He is the fastest on the team, yet he looks like a straggler. Alone in a crowded field. 

We can see the lacrosse team practicing in the background, Ray’s track team on the side, a few other students in the bleachers. Surrounded on all sides by action, Ray remains still. Maybe somewhere he has taken a false start because in that moment, he does not belong in his own home.

Ray begins to walk toward his duffel bag resting on the turf’s edge, unaware of, or ignoring, his surroundings. Suddenly, someone shouts:

ONLOOKER

Look out!

We see it the same time he does. A stray ball, whistling toward him. Ray does not react in time, but it does not matter. Someone’s lacrosse stick wedges itself between him and the offending ball, catching it with the kind of precision only a goalkeeper could muster.

Aidan meets Ray’s eyes. His helmet is off, his gaze fire doused with sudden shyness. 

AIDAN

Do you have a death wish?

There is something strangely familiar about this boy, and Ray cannot figure it out just yet. A long pause, then...

RAY  
(dazedly)

Maybe you should get a team you don’t have to pick up after.

\--

Cambria Sports University was, in reality, a conglomeration of different seaside colleges stitched together. The set was tucked close to the beach, and the air almost always smelled of salt and unfamiliar memories. 

Neil could see the ocean from the hotel Jeremy had booked for the cast and crew. It was much bluer than anything he’d seen before - liquid sapphire sparkling beneath the sun whenever it shied away from the clouds. He wished he could savor the view, because the sea spat up the sunrise so gorgeously he figured the sunsets would be ineffable - 

But his chest kept aching like he hadn’t been able to breathe properly for the past week. 

The news of him joining the Foxes’ lineup hit the media hard. Neil knew it was coming - Dan and Jeremy had to confirm the details of their production sooner or later - but it didn’t stop the growing weight in his chest from tearing him apart.

There were too many speculations, about why he’d chosen to join the Foxes, why he’d chosen to make his comeback with their specific production, even why he’d chosen to co-star with Andrew. And while Neil had avoided looking at all the articles and gossip, he knew he wouldn’t have to search far to find references to his father’s trial and his mother.

(The world was all too eager to unearth graves before they settled).

((Neil had never gotten the chance to build himself his own cemetery)).

He had a couple days before filming, and he spent them alone in his room. Reread the script, dig his nails into his skin, avoid looking at his scars in the mirror. Repeat. It was a lonely procedure but one he was all-too used to.

Yet, he could bury himself all he wanted to, and he still wouldn’t be able to claw his way above his treacherous past. Memories welled up, one after another, faster and faster, like blood between the halves of reopened scars. 

Mistakes during filming meant punishment at home. Any indication that life wasn’t perfect away from the screen meant choking down alcohol as steady hands stitched him back together in the dark. _Anything_ other than perfection meant knives to the skin, slaps across the face, bitter and caustic words carving deep into bone marrow. 

_Liability_.

_Failure._

_My greatest disappointment._

Through it all, his mother had just stood there, let Nathan do whatever he wanted to Neil. 

And every time his storm receded, she would take Neil in her arms and put him back together. 

(Those scars still ached. The pain never went away, just came and went with the waves).

((And some days, the tide was so high he nearly drowned in it)).

Objectively, Neil knew he would be fine here and now. Nathan was rotting in prison for the rest of his life, his mother was long gone, and the Foxes weren’t going to hurt him.

(But the tides swelled again, and whispered something different).

Neil’s chest ached as he suddenly drew in a breath. Fingers trembling, he glanced down at his hands. He’d dug crescent moons into his palms, so harshly that they seemed permanent, and he was wondering if he should’ve been surprised that he hadn’t drawn blood when someone began knocking at his door.

Stumbling away from the bed, Neil yanked open the door to find Allison and another girl - he recognized her as Renee - standing outside. 

“Weren’t you supposed to dye your hair?” Allison raised an eyebrow, looking him over. Neil fought the instinct to reach up and pull at his hair, instead clasping his hands behind his back. 

“I didn’t have time yet,” he lied. 

(It wasn’t like he could tell Allison the truth right there).

((The truth, being - he was going to earlier, but that meant he’d have to look at himself, and he didn’t want to do that because he was terrified all he’d see was his father, Nathan, _Nathan_ , Nathan Wesninski and his knives and lighters and frigid eyes that _were just like his own_ )).

Allison easily could’ve called him out on his bullshit, but she just hummed and smirked. Wrapping an arm around Renee’s shoulders, she said, “That’s why I brought my girlfriend. Come on.”

Before Neil could do anything else, she waltzed right in. Renee just smiled sweetly at him, tucking her pastel hair up into a loose bun. 

“Hey, Neil. Allison’s told me a lot about you,” she said. “It’s really nice to finally meet you.”

“Good to meet you too,” Neil said absently, letting the door fall shut as the two girls looked around the room. Allison had disappeared somewhere into the bathroom, while Renee picked up the script Neil had left on the bed. 

Hair shimmering with all colors, bright and genuine smile, a cross pendant hanging off her neck, Renee looked harmless enough.

(Experience told Neil he knew better than that).

There was definitely more to her. Allison had said something about not getting on her bad side, and the sun would always cast shadows. 

Before he could do much else, though, Allison reemerged. Victoriously, she brandished a box of dark brown dye and a pair of scissors. 

“Ready our battle stations, Neil. Let our resident expert do the deed.” 

She swept him into the bathroom, Renee gently laughing in the background. Ten minutes later, Neil was sat in a chair facing the mirror, fingers digging into his thighs as Allison put on unfamiliar music. 

“May I?” Renee held up a towel. Neil glanced at her warily but nodded, and she draped it over his shoulders. After a moment, she hummed and softly asked, “How have you been holding up? People are really excited about you coming back.” 

“They should be,” Allison said when he didn’t - _couldn’t_ \- respond. “He’s one of the actual good ones.”

Neil hummed distractedly, forcing himself to relax. Though he tried to look anywhere but at the mirror in front of him, he only needed to catch sight of his reflection for a second before nearly flinching and turning away. 

“Are you alright?” Renee checked when he twitched.

“I’m fine.” He shoved his hands underneath his thighs so he couldn’t do anything stupid, staring at the ground as Renee got to work.

Allison had been watching him the whole time, lips pursed. Then, after a moment, she got up. Wedging herself between him and the mirror, she sat down right in front of him. Neil looked up, startled, but she only smiled casually down at him. 

“Renee, dear, how about you tell some of your stories?” she asked, like what she’d just done wasn’t a big deal at all.

Maybe it wasn’t. But to Neil - 

Somehow, she’d just _noticed_. And without asking, she put herself between him and the shadow of Nathan Wesninski.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had done that for him, and not asked for anything in return.

Perhaps he’d just gotten too obvious about his discomfort, but the notion of it still let something calmer settle in his chest. It quieted roiling storms.

“Well,” Renee said thoughtfully, “how about I tell you a little about myself?”

Neil hummed for her to continue, watching as Allison popped a piece of gum into her mouth. 

“I got involved in some bad things early in my life,” she said. “My biological parents died when I was a kid, and I grew up around a lot of gangs and violence. I had to learn to adapt, to survive. It meant doing some bad things.”

Working more dye into his hair, she continued, “It was hard to get out of it, but eventually I had to escape. Someone finally took me in and adopted me, and I changed my name and appearance, but all that’s easy. I really wanted to try being good again.” She paused, tucking a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. “My adoptive mother is religious, so she introduced me to church. It was strange at first - you know, I’d grown up a heathen - but after a lot of work, I’m much more comfortable with it now.”

“How did you join the Foxes?” Neil asked quietly. Renee smiled at his voice. 

“Coach was just starting to put together the team and he needed people to build it up from the bottom. I was already good at changing and patching up appearances. I credit my mom with introducing me to him, but he ended up recruiting me as a makeup artist,” she replied. “I’ve been here ever since. This is my home now.”

It was hard, at first, to imagine Renee living the kind of brutality she talked about. 

But when Neil looked closer, he thought he could recognize a darkness in her eyes that occasionally shone through. The kind of darkness that only winter’s shadows were capable of putting there, the kind of darkness that said she’d survived a lot worse and lived in spite of it.

It was a darkness Neil recognized - it was one of his own too.

(Yet, her hands were never harsh).

((Neil wondered what kind of strength it took, to touch and hold someone with such lightness)).

“Thanks for telling me,” he said after a long moment. Renee smiled again, and Neil let the sweetness settle this time, while Allison gazed at her with a tender sort of pride. 

“There,” Renee said after several more songs finished playing. “You’re done.” 

Neil hadn’t noticed how much time had passed already. Allison scooted to the side so he could see, and he couldn’t help his sharp inhale at the sight. 

His hair was completely dark, not an inch of the auburn fire he’d inherited from his father to be seen. His eyes looked more pale in comparison - seas that had swallowed the earth underneath gray skies. 

“Wow.” Allison whistled, interrupting his reverie. “If acting doesn’t work out, Andrew should be a casting director.”

Neil dragged his gaze away to glance at her. “What?”

She just winked cryptically, before brandishing her scissors. “Ray has bangs, right? Let’s get you some bangs.” 

(Neil sensed he didn’t have a say in it).

He kept his eyes on the scissors as Allison hopped down from the counter and tilted his chin up, wiping away some residual dye that was still on his temples. He wasn’t sure why he allowed her to get so close to his face like that, but then again - 

She’d immediately clocked in on the fact that he couldn’t even stand to look at himself, let alone cut his own hair with a sharp object. 

So he let her step close. 

Allison only ended up cutting a little bit off, ruffling his hair once it dried and clicking her tongue. “There you go,” she said, satisfied. “Our lovely track star.”

When Neil looked at himself again, it was hard to find Nathan Wesninski.

The scars remained, but he couldn’t see his father sitting in front of him anymore. Only him, Renee, and Allison were there. 

His lips twitched on their own. A tiny smile dawned on his face. 

(His father had never looked like that).

“Thank you,” he breathed. 

Allison grinned, adjusting her own hair, which she’d cut short for her role. “Now that we’re here, we might as well rehearse a bit,” she declared. “Come along, Josten.” 

\--

CUT TO -

EXT. SCHOOL PLAYGROUND. AFTERNOON. 2009.

Aidan, 13 years-old, and Ray, 12 years-old, are sitting beneath a tree’s shade. Around them the rest of the school is in motion. They are focused solely on each other. 

RAY

Do your parents fight?

AIDAN

Don’t all parents fight?

RAY

I think my mom is going to leave soon. Something’s going on with Dad.

AIDAN

Where are you going?

RAY

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t want to go.

AIDAN  
(almost desperately, taking his hand)

Hey. You don’t have to. You can stay with us. Luna loves you.

There is more he wants to say, one more person that loves Ray too, who is sitting right there beside him. The words stick in his throat, and he cannot voice them. Ray does not notice, only leaning against Aidan, his better half, the way best friends do.

CUT BACK TO - 

THE PRESENT. 

Aidan, older, stronger, and faster now, realizes it first. He lowers his stick slowly, eyes widening.

AIDAN

(shocked)  
Ray?

\--

The morning filming began, Neil was fine.

He was fine when he slipped on his brown contacts, obscuring ice blue. He was fine when Renee came to touch up the scars on his face, blending until they disappeared into his skin - secrets only he would know were there. He was fine when Jeremy came by his room to personally check on how he was doing. He was fine when heading down to the stadium where they were set to shoot - first Andrew’s scenes, then Neil’s. 

Then he wasn’t.

It hit him the moment he stepped onto the field, when he saw Andrew standing with Dan and Nicky by the lacrosse goal, when he saw the filming equipment and lights and crew. This was _real_. He was doing this, coming back, to the thing he’d sworn to quit for good. He was opening himself back up to the fray.

Just like that, seas changed on whims. Storms didn’t heed to wishes.

And every memory, every pain, every corpse of fallen constellations the waters had ever swallowed, welled back up, flooded him. Choked him and engulfed him entirely. 

(He was reminded -

Even the afternoon sun kissing his skin couldn’t ward off the winter he housed in his heart).

Neil slipped away before anyone could notice or protest, stumbling behind the stadium and pressing - or crashing - his back against the wall. He pressed a hand harshly against his chest, nails digging in, right where his heart was hammering. He couldn’t breathe. Someone had lit a fire in his ribs and it was growing, growing, growing, except there was no way to escape but through the suffocating smoke.

Yet, no matter how deeply he tried to breathe, nothing seemed to put out the flames.

Neil stayed there for maybe ten minutes, probably longer, staring into nothing as he counted and recounted every breath he took. It didn’t help when he stumbled over the numbers, lost track, and had to restart all over again. 

He didn’t notice anyone else had found him, so he jumped when someone rapped their knuckles against the wall. Blearily, Neil looked up, only to find himself at the end of Andrew’s piercing stare. He was already dressed in the CSU uniform: black and pale yellow, so he’d probably already finished filming his scenes in the time Neil had wasted trying to get his shit together.

“S-Sorry,” Neil whispered, coughing slightly as the air slammed into his lungs. 

Andrew looked him over, before slowly kneeling down in front of him. “You’re having a panic attack.” No judgement, no emotion, just calm observation. 

Neil wanted to glare at him, maybe deny anything was happening at all, but instead he could only weakly nod. 

A few seconds passed. Andrew regarded Neil quietly, something that Neil couldn’t name flickering through his gaze, before he held up his hands. 

“Cross your hands over your chest.” Folding them over his chest, locking his thumbs together, Andrew stared Neil down until he finally moved to do the same. His fingers trembled, and his pulse thrummed rapidly against hollow palms. 

“What - ”

“Tap your hands against your chest, one at a time. Close your eyes.” He started tapping against his skin, cautiously alternating between each hand. _Once-twice. Once-twice_. Neil let his eyes slide shut, let Andrew’s voice, low and still, wash over him. “Take deep breaths. Keep tapping until you come back down.” 

He didn’t say anything else, but Neil knew he was watching him intently. Inhaling until his shoulders shuddered, Neil let out the breath. He began tapping his hands against his chest, slowly losing himself in the lilting rhythm.

It took a while. He stumbled and tripped over his own breath, and his hands kept shaking, but eventually -

Taps became the pitter patter of rain. One by one, it began putting out the fire, blanketed heaving seas like gentle strokes to the forehead. Rain didn’t heal scars or erase memories, didn’t assuage the rotten petals and stars in their graves - 

But it lulled him into a stillness he needed.

After a long silence, Neil opened his eyes slowly, meeting Andrew’s gaze. Steady, unmoving. 

“Thank you.” His voice was hoarse and trembled slightly as he uncrossed his arms, resting them in his lap. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” 

Neil didn’t know what to say, or how to properly thank him. He usually kept to himself when he was panicking, mainly because he couldn’t handle the pitying looks and questions people shoved down his throat after they saw how ugly everything really was. 

Yet, Andrew had seen him. And he hadn’t flinched away. 

Before he could get any other words out, Andrew was standing up. “We’re shooting our meeting scene now,” he said after a long moment. “Are you ready?”

Melancholy petrichor filled his lungs in the aftermath of ruins. 

Neil pushed himself to his feet, nodding. Andrew didn’t give him time to wallow or think, because he was already heading back out onto the field, where the rest of the crew waited. 

Jeremy had the slate in his hands as he approached them. “Everything alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Sorry.” Neil ignored the look Andrew gave him for the apology, focusing on smoothing out the wrinkles in his own CSU uniform before turning to Jeremy. “Where do you need me?”

Jeremy glanced between the two of them for a moment, before smiling and stepping close. “We’re going to shoot the actual meeting scene first, so that means Andrew’s gonna have to catch the ball flying at you. The speed’s all controlled so it’s not going to be a literal projectile, so - ”

“That’s fine, do what you need to do.” Neil mentally ran through the script again, latching onto the activity to shove aside any other lingering traces of anxiety, as Jeremy nodded and checked with a few other crew members. 

Andrew hefted his lacrosse stick, twirling it in his hands. He looked completely natural with it. 

Neil headed down to the tracks, running a hand through his hair as the cameras followed him. Nicky shot him a thumbs-up from behind the camera, while Jeremy readied the slate. Closing his eyes, Neil blew out a long breath, clenching his fists. He could feel Andrew’s gaze on him, watching intently as he prepared himself.

(The tides threatened to rise up, leaving behind a stinging aftertaste in his throat). 

((But instead, he focused on the rain, tapping gently on either shoulder)). 

“Alright,” Jeremy said. “This is scene 10, take 1.” 

“Ready,” Dan said. “And - action!”

The slate came down, and Neil opened his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: truth for truth.
> 
> (slides you $20) care to spare a comment T^T


	4. invented truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> neil gets to know his lovely pr agent and co-star.
> 
>  **warnings** : discussion of past abuse/relapse but not detailed

INT. DORMITORIES. 2016.

Aidan is staring at the ceiling while **LUNA YOUNG** , his sister and recent college graduate lost in her twenties, paces his dorm. 

LUNA

So you’re telling me that you saved your fifth grade crush from death by lacrosse ball?

AIDAN  
(dejected)

He doesn’t remember me. He literally ran when I said his name. It doesn’t matter.

LUNA

And he’s the star of your track team now? _And_ you didn’t know he went to your same school?

Aidan stands up abruptly and barges in front of Luna, interrupting her pacing. 

AIDAN

I thought you were here to trash my dorm, not set me up.

LUNA

Aidan, you’re a sophomore. Sophomore! How did you not know - Okay, whatever. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this.

AIDAN

Don’t.

Luna’s expression takes on a more serious tone, as she faces Aidan fully. 

LUNA

It’s been 7 years, Aidan. I know how much you’ve missed him. I’ve missed him too. So if you waste this time just hanging out with your jock friends and don’t at least talk to Ray once, I will annihilate you.

Luna’s ambition for even the most trivial things shines through. Yet, as Aidan lies back down and pinches the bridge of his nose, he realizes maybe this is not such a trivial thing at all.

\--

While Andrew and Allison filmed their own scenes together, Neil waited out on set. He sat back in his chair, resting his head against the wall as he closed his eyes. 

He heard footsteps approach him, then someone sat in the chair beside him. Neil opened one eye to spot Seth settling back, crossing one leg over the other as he tapped his phone against his hand. 

“Yes?” Neil asked. 

“You are free right now,” Seth said, not quite a question.

“Seems like it.” 

“You need to get on social media.” 

The thought of voluntarily putting his life online was more daunting than it should’ve been, and Neil looked away. “No thanks.”

“I’m just letting you know it has to happen at some point,” Seth said, scoffing. “Even Andrew has it. I’m your PR manager, so you have to listen to me.”

“I don’t do social media,” Neil muttered. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll just run it for you.” Seth didn’t say much else, content with just sitting there (in Andrew’s chair) and typing away. Neil watched him for a long minute. He’d swapped out his earrings that day, replacing a simple stud with what looked like a dangling safety pin.

And just like that, the question came almost naturally. 

“How did Wymack find you?” 

“Me? Now _that’s_ a story,” Seth said, raising his eyebrows but not surprised. Picking at the skin around his nails, he tilted his head to the side. “I was a really angry kid. I mean, I’m still angry now - just a lot better at managing it. I didn’t have a good life at home so I got in a lot of fights, tried to vent my frustrations that way.” Then, he laughed breathily. “One of my teachers made me do theater when I kept getting detentions. Because you know, that’s the _best_ fucking coping mechanism.” 

“I can’t imagine,” Neil said flatly. Seth chuckled louder that time. 

“But I couldn’t really go home much if I was spending my entire day at school, so I didn’t mind,” he said. “I met Allison there. I was a techie, so I had to mic her up. God, she was annoying - but she was my only friend in the program. Her family was rich as fuck but didn’t give a shit about her. So we could kind of understand each other. Minus the wealth differences, of course.” 

Seth’s smile was all hard edges and roughness, but the one on his face just then was softer - clouds, nostalgic for summer, rounding out a thunderstorm. “She convinced me to join the Foxes with her. I didn’t really have anywhere else to go, didn’t know what else to do, so I went with it. We were jokes in the beginning, you know?”

Neil nodded, and Seth shrugged. “Coach didn’t care, though. He didn’t look away when things got hard or ugly. Not when I relapsed, not when I kept having to change meds because they wouldn’t work, not when I thought I wasn’t going anywhere. 

“We only really started getting attention when Kevin came, after he broke his hand. He left Edgar Allan, exposed all the shit they did to him, and that agency went down in flames. Everyone would only talk about how upsetting it all was, or how he betrayed his fans, all this shit. And I - I hated him at first, you know.” 

Neil remembered the stories that had come out about Kevin, remembered reading in all-too explicit detail the kind of abuse he’d undergone. He remembered thinking that some parts of Kevin’s story, some bits and pieces of his suffering, felt too familiar to his own pain. 

(And he remembered the bittersweet ache filling his chest at the thought: at least one of them would get a better ending). 

Meeting Seth’s eyes, Neil asked, “Why?” 

“Because everyone loved him _so dearly_. But you just know that if those same people saw someone like me, they wouldn’t even look twice.” Turning a dark gaze on Neil, Seth said, “People love tragedy only when it looks good.” 

It was the same way people named and worshipped storms, cried and wept over the ruins they created, then turned their backs when they remembered the ugliest and hardest process wasn’t falling, but getting back up. 

Neil glanced down at his hands, at the scars tracing over his knuckles. “Do you still hate him?” he asked quietly.

Seth shook his head without hesitation. “Kevin’s not any less deserving of recovery than I am, just because people like him more.” He glanced at Neil, with a casual sort of wisdom that could only have come from brute strength. “But his life is not more important than mine just because he’s more talented.”

After a long moment, in which his words carved themselves permanently into Neil’s memory, Seth suddenly inhaled sharply and kicked him in the shins. 

“Now you tell me something.” When Neil shot him a sour look, he added, “You don’t get my not-villain origin story for nothing.” 

It was surprisingly easy to come up with something just then. The troubles he harbored in his chest were relentless, after all. 

Tipping his head back, drinking in the bright, filtered window light, Neil said, “I wish I had better memories of acting. Being back on set reminds me that I can’t be anything less than perfect, or there would be consequences once I got home.” Rubbing one hand over a scar on the outside of his wrist, he murmured, “I’m trying to get used to it again, but it’s hard.” 

(There was no treating muscle memory overnight - no simple, quick, or easy fix. And the creeping anxiety that _something_ or _someone_ was going to snap whenever a take went wrong followed him everywhere).

“The whole point of making anything is that it isn’t going to be perfect the first time,” Seth said. “Even _I_ know that.”

Neil felt himself smile humorlessly. Almost instinctively, he reached up to press his knuckles against his mouth, crushing the expression away. 

“Some people don’t,” was all he said. 

Seth gazed at him steadily. 

“Your dad,” he said, bluntly enough to be rude. “He gave you your scars, right?”

His throat threatened to close up almost immediately. Neil looked away, swallowing the sour aftertaste of ghosts crawling down from the attic, and nodded silently.

“You know what I like to do?” Seth asked after a long minute. He waited until Neil could glance his way again, before continuing. “Survive to spite, and live for everything else. Fuck him. He’s nothing now.” 

Neil wished it were that easy - 

But his father had been gone for five years, and he felt like he’d only ever gone several steps back. 

Their conversation ended there, and Neil was almost relieved for the quiet. They only sat there for a couple more minutes before Seth sighed, whipping out his phone.

“Smile, Josten.” 

Neil turned and only stared blankly as Seth snapped a picture, smirking at whatever he ended up capturing. 

“Oh, that’s going up,” he declared.

“Delete it,” Neil said without conviction. Seth just waved his phone tauntingly at him, heading back down the hallway. A couple minutes later, Nicky came down his way to let him know they needed him in a few. 

Neil got up to follow him, but paused for just a second. 

Despite it all, the storm in him - 

It seemed to have settled, just a little while. 

And until he reached a place where gales and tempests became only a constant, but softer, drizzle, he’d take the smallest mercies wherever they came along.

\--

INT. DORMITORIES. NIGHT. 2016.

Ray is sitting alone by the window, lit only by a single lamp on his desk. He is staring at his phone. It is open to the contact of **AN YI PING** , his reticent and distant uncle. Despite having lived with Yi Ping for his teenage years, Ray still does not know how to call him, or what to say.

After a long moment of deliberation, Ray finally presses on his contact and holds his phone up to his ear. He is visibly anxious.

The call goes on for several rings before Yi Ping finally picks up. 

YI PING

Ray?

Any words he has wanted to say disappear. Ray pauses...

RAY

Hey, Uncle.

YI PING

Is something wrong? Need school help?

RAY

No...No, nothing’s wrong. 

YI PING

Why are you calling?

Ray does not know why. Obligation? Loneliness? He searches for something to fill in the space. 

RAY

Ah...I was wondering if you had time this weekend. I’m having my first track meet of the season. I thought maybe you’d want to be there?

He does not say that _he_ wants Yi Ping to be there. But they are not close enough to hear such unspoken confessions.

YI PING

No, I can’t. I’m working. 

RAY  
(hurt, but hiding it)

Okay. It’s okay.

YI PING

Is that it?

RAY

If you’re busy I won’t bother you. Sorry for calling. 

YI PING

Ray…

RAY

Talk to you soon. Good night.

Ray hangs up. His hand trembles as he sets his phone face-down. For a moment, he looks like he may cry from exhaustion - he is tired of being left behind. The moment passes precariously, and Ray stands back up and curls up on his bed. His jersey is hanging above his head, almost taunting him.

\--

“And that’s a wrap on today’s shoot. Great work, everyone,” Dan said as a few of the crew members whooped. Neil sat up on the bed with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. He hated crying on command - he rarely even cried for genuine reasons, unless he was just in too much physical pain - but that was yet another thing he’d been forced to perfect since he was young.

He stayed around to review the footage with Dan, before she grinned and waved him off for the night. By the time Neil started heading back to his hotel room, it was already dark outside. The air turned colder, the way it always did when the sea went to sleep, and Neil counted his breaths each time he exhaled mist. 

Neil trudged into his bathroom, flicking on the lights and taking some of the wipes Renee had gifted him. He scrubbed them over his face, didn’t stop until every inch of the makeup covering up his scars had been removed. 

Splashing water onto his face, Neil sighed heavily and leaned against the counter. For a long minute, he stared at himself in the mirror. Water droplets still rolled down his cheeks, racing one another down the ravaged state of his skin. 

Reaching up, he slowly took his contacts out. Normal brown slipped away into piercing blue again - 

And the illusion lifted. 

He tore his gaze away from the mirror, collapsing onto his bed and rolling onto his side. After ten minutes of staring at the wall, Neil ended up going on his phone and making his way to Twitter - apparently significant enough that it was one of the first new apps Seth had downloaded for him. 

The first thing that popped up on his page was from the Foxes’ account, something about the cast behind the scenes. Neil clicked on the account name, scrolling aimlessly through until he paused on the most recent post. 

It was the photo Seth had taken of him earlier. It wasn’t anything special, just him sitting in his chair with his legs crossed. He was looking into the camera, expressionless. Yet, he was a completely different person - dark hair falling across his forehead, plain brown eyes, smooth, unmarked face. 

Neil stared at himself for a long minute, before glancing down at Seth’s caption.

 _Unhappier than most...to be on set_ , it read. 

A scoff bubbled up from his chest. Ignoring the comments, Neil turned his phone off and tossed it to the side, shutting his eyes tightly. 

To maintain his professional persona, most of his life that had been documented online came only from interviews, articles, and other promotional things he’d done for his projects. It was strange to be seen so candidly, immortalized on the Foxes’ page. 

Even if Neil had only spent a few days with them so far, they’d immediately uprooted almost everything he knew - 

He didn’t need to be Neil Josten the actor all the time. He could be a person too. 

He could struggle and fail and ask for a second try, and they would give him time and space to put himself back together. They would put their bodies before his shadows without asking; they would take his truths as they were; they would show him ways to breathe again - to summon rain and put out flames. 

It was a strange new thing to get used to, a warm day or two after years of winter. The coldness still lingered, between every joint, between every breath - 

Because as much as the Foxes were something new, there was still some part of him, where grief stayed and burrowed itself deep into memories, that whispered - _this was wrong_. His mother wasn’t there when she should’ve been alive, Neil didn’t know why she died and probably never would, and everything wasn’t magically _fixed_.

But, he supposed, Seth would have said it made him fit right in. 

Sleep evaded him easily, so Neil gave up on trying about an hour in and rolled out of bed. He headed out, tugging the CSU windbreaker around his shoulders as he wandered the endless hotel hallways. 

He didn’t know for long he walked, eyes catching on the occasional meaningless painting tacked up on the wall. Neil only stopped when he heard someone’s voice in the foyer, pausing and glancing around. 

It was Andrew. 

He was sitting on one of the couches with his legs tucked up to his chest, talking on the phone with someone. Neil paused.

Andrew looked so - he didn’t know - _soft_ just then. 

Neil was used to seeing him serious and concentrated on his work, completely transforming into whichever persona he needed to adopt for a role. He wasn’t used to seeing Andrew like this - slumped over the couch with one of his feet propped up on a nearby coffee table, shoulders sloped in one relaxed line.

The sight stirred something that ached in Neil’s chest. 

He caught only the tail-end of Andrew’s conversation. Leaning his head back, Andrew played with the black armbands he always wore, murmuring, “ - texted me at four in the morning yesterday. Tell Aaron to stop being stupid and go to sleep, Abby.” 

Neil turned away and started heading back before Andrew could see him. For some reason, he didn’t think it was something he had the right to listen to.

The two of them hadn’t spoken to each other since Andrew had found Neil in the middle of a panic attack, only interacting whenever their scenes called for it. It only jolted Neil back to the time they’d worked together before - 

When Andrew would look at him but wouldn’t talk to him. When the things that grew between them on set were immediately uprooted as soon as the lights turned out and the slate came down. 

Neil hadn’t understood Andrew back then.

But he could recognize the marks that storms had left on him. He could recognize that the world-owning strength Andrew carried could only have come from years of two arduous steps forward, one or ten steps back. 

(So he hadn’t questioned his silence).

He thought Andrew hadn’t understood him either, that the boy only saw Neil for what he was - an actor, a colleague. 

But, as Neil laid back down in bed, he found his hands coming back up to his chest. Crossing his thumbs together, he rested his fingers lightly against his collarbones. 

Maybe Andrew saw more of him than he’d thought. 

Maybe he wasn’t as good at hiding as he used to be. 

_Survive to spite, live for everything else_ , Seth had told him. Yet, Neil had spent his entire life treading that thin line: not quite surviving, not quite living. 

At the end of the day, he was still alone in his own room, hands tucked up to his chest, holding himself where there was nobody else. Melancholy shrouded him like an old, clingy friend. 

But he thought, with the moonlight lulling against his cheekbone, maybe he could hope - 

As stupid and childish and _dangerous_ as it could be - 

That eventually, someone would find his sea, storms and stars’ corpses and lost spring and all, and perhaps even stay a while.

\--

EXT. FOUNTAINSIDE. EVENING. 2016.

Aidan and Luna walk down a pathway together. It is somewhat secluded from the rest of the university, but still well-trodden. They are surrounded by trees, scattered leaves, and the occasional bench for the tired college student. 

LUNA

You’re coming home for winter break, right?

AIDAN

Am I? You’re just going to fight with Mom and Dad.

LUNA

So?

AIDAN  
When you fight with them, it means I also have to fight with them, because I have to take your side. Every time.

LUNA

Okay, you don’t have to, but it’s basic decency - 

CUT TO - 

Ray, coming down the same pathway. He is looking around but not really taking in his surroundings, searching for something - or someone - specifically. He eventually sees two people walking in front of him. One of them is wearing a varsity jacket with the name YOUNG printed across the back. There he is.

RAY  
(running faster)

Aidan?

Aidan stops and turns around slowly. He sees Ray, and his eyes widen. We see him contemplating: should he run? Should he let Luna handle it? Should he stay and face the fact that his best friend (ex-best friend?) is back in his life and he did not even know?

Ray comes up to them in Aidan’s silence, looking back and forth between them. Aidan, lost in a childhood home that is not the same anymore. Luna, pleasantly surprised with the nostalgia. 

RAY  
(suddenly unsure)

Hey. It’s...really great to see you again.

LUNA

It’s been so long, Ray. I can’t believe you didn’t even give us a call or text.

RAY

I’m sorry. I...I had to go live with my uncle, and he isn’t really - 

Luna cuts him off with the tightest hug. Ray freezes for a moment. Luna does not let go until his hands tentatively come up and grip the back of her shirt. 

LUNA  
(grinning)

I’m just glad you’re back. 

Ray pulls away, breathless, and looks toward Aidan, searching. A long pause...

AIDAN

You ran away.

Ray does not know if he is referring to a couple days ago, when he panicked and ran away from Aidan as soon as he recognized him - or 7 years ago, when his mother took everything and finally left him for good.

RAY

Sorry. It’s what I do.

AIDAN

I thought you forgot me.

RAY

How could I forget you? You were my best friend.

The past tense hurts Aidan more than it should. Time does not heal wounds, sometimes it reopens them.

LUNA  
(taking the lead)

We have some catching-the-fuck-up to do. I leave in a couple weeks, so you’re coming out with us. My brother is an antisocial idiot who only ever practices and trains - 

Oh, God. I really hope you aren’t the same.

For the first time in a while, Ray laughs. 

\--

“You ran away,” Andrew said after a long silence. His eyes seemed to burn with warring hurt and hesitant yearning - reaching for something he’d thought he lost but couldn’t quite touch. Neil couldn’t help but look away from him, shifting slightly. 

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s what I do.”

“I thought you forgot me.”

At that, he lifted his head, held Andrew’s gaze. “How could I forget you?” he asked, almost demanded. “You were my best friend.”

(But that was the thing about losing someone).

((People were homes, were ever-changing, were never the same)).

(((Not unless they were dead))).

They stared at each other for a long moment. Beside Andrew, Allison shifted. She took a deep breath, blurting out, “We have some fucking catching up to do - ” Then, the moment broke, and she groaned loudly. “Oh, _fuck_ me. Shit. Sorry, let’s do that again.” 

“You’re all good,” Dan called through her laughter. Andrew tore his gaze away from Neil’s. “Let’s just start from where you come in, Allison.”

“Got it.” 

They managed to finish the rest of the take without any other major disasters. Allison headed over to review the footage together with Jeremy and Dan, while Neil took a deep breath and tried to brush aside any lingering feelings from the scene. 

Tucking his hands into his pockets, he looked around. The trees surrounding them were dappled with drops of dusk, leaving splatters of dim gold on the trail. Neil followed the patterns of light, stopping only when he spotted Andrew sitting by the fountain. A cigarette sat between his lips as he fiddled with his lighter, flicking it on and off. 

His legs seemed to move on their own. Neil approached Andrew slowly, settling down next to him with a soft huff. Quiet swathed them gently for a long minute, letting the sounds of the crew talking and trees rustling take them over. 

Andrew glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, before putting his lighter away. He turned to face him, smoke trailing out of his mouth as he exhaled. 

(Neil tried to ignore the twinge in his chest at how familiar the smell was).

“Are you just going to sit there?” Andrew asked lowly, breaking their silence. 

Shrugging, Neil shot back, “Why do you smoke?” He wasn’t sure where the question came from, but at least Andrew looked as surprised as he felt, from the way he paused with his cigarette halfway to his mouth. 

“I smoke when I’m bored,” he said. 

“I’m not interesting enough for you, huh?” When Andrew didn’t say anything, Neil looked down, focused on the spots of leftover sun that danced away with the wind. Distantly, he thought about stadiums and torrents of rain and the anxiety he always kept swallowed just beneath his sternum. 

“That day,” Neil murmured, “how did you know where to find me?”

Andrew flicked some ash off his cigarette. His answer was simple enough. 

“I saw you leave.” 

“You saw me leave?” he repeated. 

“Is this the Spanish Inquisition?” Andrew asked dryly. 

Neil watched a swaying sunbeam disappear, consumed by the evening. He felt a smile threatening to tug at his lips, half self-deprecating and half amused. 

“If you want. We could get to know each other,” he said quietly. “I guess it’s stupid.” 

He assumed that was the end of their conversation. In the distance, Allison burst into laughter, probably because Nicky had just shown her their outtake. Neil tracked the sound, hung onto it. An airplane carved trails into the clouds overhead, and he watched it fly by. 

Hearing Andrew’s voice again took him by surprise.

“We’ll do it like we did back then.” When Neil met his gaze again, Andrew lifted his chin - almost an invitation. “Truth for a truth.” 

It took him a moment to clock in on what Andrew was talking about. When he did, that same lilting ache in his chest returned once again.

The show they had worked on previously followed two ex-friends who could only rebuild their trust in one another by telling each other truths - and _only_ truths. Neil hadn’t expected Andrew to bring it up again. But he couldn’t deny that, just as the moon tugged the tides and beckoned them to come forth every night, curiosity tapped against his wrist, asking to play. 

“You know the whole reason they stopped being friends in the first place was because one of them kept lying,” he said lightly. 

Andrew raised his eyebrows. “Then this time, we’ll tell the truth.” 

Neil couldn’t help but smile that time. He reached up and pressed his hand against his mouth like he could smother it away, but Andrew had already seen it anyway. 

“Okay,” he agreed. “I have a question, then.” 

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Andrew almost looked amused. He gestured with his cigarette - _go on_. 

“The thing you taught me, putting your hands on your chest and tapping,” Neil said. “Where did you learn it from?”

“The Butterfly Hug,” Andrew replied around a mouthful of smoke. “It’s a grounding technique. Bee taught it to me.” 

Neil remembered Allison mentioning that Bee was their agency’s therapist. He hummed, sitting back and stretching out his legs. 

“It helped me,” he said quietly, though he was sure Andrew already knew that. “Thank you.” 

A few minutes passed, and then Andrew took his turn. “Did something trigger you?”

It was a yes or no answer, an easy way out if Neil didn’t or couldn’t answer. 

(But, at least in that minute, all Neil could feel was lazy end-of-August warmth). 

“Being back on set for the first time in five years - it was a lot,” he said, clearing his throat. “There was a reason I stopped acting for a while. Remembering I have to be seen again was a bit of a harsh wake-up call.” 

Andrew didn’t pry further - and he figured it was something they could get to later. For that, Neil was quietly grateful.

Turning toward Andrew, he asked, “Just how much do you know about me?” 

Andrew lifted his cigarette to his lips. His hazel eyes seemed to steal away all the light, housing them in pools of gold and flecks of amber. Sun spots dancing over a still sea - it was a film reel Neil couldn’t seem to look away from.

“Not enough,” Andrew finally said.

(Just that. He didn’t know him by the easy summaries he’d been assigned by articles, didn’t know him by the tragedy of his name).

((Just not enough)).

The laughter that tried to bubble up in his chest was entirely unscripted. He didn’t know if it was relief or not. But Neil held it down like a cough, let Andrew’s words set themselves adrift among sea foam and blossoms, as he reached out.

He didn’t know why, but he took the still-smoking cigarette from between Andrew’s loose fingers, putting it between his own lips and inhaling deeply. His co-star’s gaze on him was hotter than the balmy Californian coast.

And for once, he didn’t mind the attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: a beach scene, and unexpected rain.
> 
> we are hitting that yearning y'all. like, comment, subscribe, see you next week


	5. summer rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> filming on the beach.

EXT. HIGHWAY. AFTERNOON. 2016. 

Aidan, Ray, and Luna are in a car speeding down the highway. Aidan is in the driver’s seat, Ray in the passenger seat, and Luna in the back. The windows are down, music is playing loudly.

Ray stares out at the coast they are driving by. He rests his chin in his hand as he looks out at the scenery. He has missed this dearly: just doing things with his friends for the sake of doing them, without the rigidity of a college athlete’s schedule. He has forgotten how good this feels.

Aidan occasionally glances over at Ray, who is quiet despite Luna’s singing in the background. He is thinking the same thing. How awfully lonely it was, all this time without each other. And how strange it is, to be back together.

Luna leans over their shoulders. 

LUNA  
(shouting loudly to be heard)

You know what? Aidan, open the roof!

Aidan gives her an unamused look. 

LUNA

Ray, do it!

AIDAN

You aren’t 16 anymore.

LUNA

Fuck it! Who cares!

Ray glances at Aidan for a second, before shrugging. He reaches up and opens up the rooftop in Aidan’s stead. Luna gives him a wink and grabs onto the edge, to Aidan’s chagrin, and hoists herself up. 

CUT TO -

Outside the car, looking in. Luna splays her arms out, lets the wind whip her hair into a mess, and opens her mouth in a jubilant shout. Ray hesitates before grinning widely, and tries to hide the expression. Aidan casts a glance at Ray, then at Luna who is still whooping loudly. 

No, they are not 16 anymore. But they are the perfect picture of youth: awkward, spontaneous, effervescent.

\--

The stretch of highway they were shooting on was blissfully deserted. Neil leaned back in his seat, letting his arm hang out the window and trailing his fingers through the breeze. 

On the side of the road, the rest of their crew was busy setting up the equipment. In the backdrop was a strip of the coast, air saturated with the distant cries of seagulls and waves lapping up the sand. 

Beside him, Andrew was tapping his fingers to the music playing softly over the radio, one hand clasping the wheel as they waited for the scene to start. Allison sat in the back, feet propped up on one side of the seats - to Andrew’s chagrin. 

After a moment, she sat up and leaned over the console, inserting herself between them. 

“So, Neil,” she said. “What’re you thinking about right now?” 

Lifting his head, Neil glanced at her. “Nothing important,” he said. 

The truth was - he was trying not to think about too much. He lost himself between script lines and cues and Andrew and Allison, let himself fade away into old muscle memory and routine, pulling himself back only when the lines began to blur too much. He hadn’t had a panic attack since the first day back on set, but more often than not, when the cameras cut away and they shed their roles, he still was as off-kilter as before.

Allison gazed at him for a moment, raising her eyebrows. She didn’t look satisfied with his answer, but didn’t push it. Instead, she grinned and asked, “You guys excited to get together soon?”

Neil’s heart stumbled. For some reason he felt his cheeks growing hotter as he looked away, while Andrew dryly replied, “Cut the small talk, Reynolds.” 

She smirked devilishly, sitting back. “At your service, Monster.” 

Subconsciously tucking one hand over his chest, Neil glanced back toward Andrew. He didn’t look affected by Allison’s comments -

But he’d stopped tapping to the music. 

“Monster?” Neil hadn’t realized he’d spoken until Allison hummed in agreement.

“He’s a beast at acting, that’s why,” she said simply. 

“Allison thinks we’re on close enough terms to call me nicknames now,” Andrew said after a few seconds. 

“I think we are, actually,” Allison retorted, scoffing. “My girlfriend beats you up pretty much weekly.” 

Neil blinked. “Renee?” 

Andrew glowered at Allison. “It’s sparring, not beating.”

“Yeah. Renee won’t spar with Andrew during shoots because that means she’ll have to cover up all his bruises,” she said, ignoring him. 

(Neil had a hard time just imagining Renee and Andrew together, let alone fighting one another).

((He supposed that there were always more depths and colors to explore when it came to the Foxes)).

Andrew turned in his seat to face Allison, unamused. “I won one time,” he said. 

“Oh? Touche. I won too,” she replied easily. 

Neil looked between the two of them. Something burst and bubbled up in his chest, something that felt a lot like the need to laugh. 

“You guys do argue like siblings,” he murmured. 

“I’m their third twin, obviously,” Allison agreed, sending Neil a wink before sitting up. “I’ll leave you two to it.” 

She hopped out of the car, leaving the door open so the salty breeze could waft in. Neil watched as she sauntered into the middle of the highway, dragging Seth away from where he stood at the side to join her. She said something to him that made him throw his head back in laughter, before she threw her arms into the air in the weirdest pose Neil had ever seen. 

Andrew let out a soft huff, tilting his head back and glancing up at the skylight. Above them was an expanse of warm blue, the kind of shade just a few minutes away from giving in to gold and orange. 

“Would you take her as your third twin?” Neil asked, watching Allison as she snatched Seth’s phone away to take a couple photos of him. 

Andrew didn’t look away from the skylight when he answered. “Aaron gives me enough trouble.”

“Why didn’t Aaron go into acting like you?” 

This time, he did turn to look at Neil. “Just because we are twins doesn’t mean we do everything the same way,” he said. There was something almost bittersweet in his eyes. The kind of grief that came from standing in the future and looking back at how everything had turned out - and realizing just how tiny and monumental and destructive the past could be.

“He does better things,” Andrew continued quietly, “like fixing people.” 

Neil tilted his head back, holding his breath. For a moment, he mentally ran through what he knew about the Minyards. Many things from their past had been made public, especially after Andrew joined the Foxes, but Neil hadn’t read everything - it just hadn’t felt right. 

He _did_ know - 

Everyone had assumed Andrew and Aaron were just another tragic story - two brothers who were broken. Two people who should’ve stayed together but couldn’t. Two boys who grew up swallowing their own wars, and two men who paid the price for it, too late.

But, he thought about all the _other_ things he’d just begun learning about Andrew -

How he had made it in an industry that prided itself on rejecting scars and quietness and heart. How he would apparently call in the middle of the night to make sure his brother was sleeping right. How, as much as Neil was sure Andrew was only humoring him, he still gave Neil the space to poke and prod with his questions. How quickly Neil was realizing only now - several years later - that Andrew was one of the most interesting people he’d met.

And, how maybe things that grew apart at first could still intertwine together in the end.

He swallowed, exhaling slowly. 

“You do good things too, you know,” he said. “Even if it’s different.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere,” Andrew said.

“You found him again. Even when you didn’t know him, you stayed for him.” Neil wrung his hands, staring at the shadows as the sun began its arduous descent toward the waiting sea. “I guess he stayed for you too. That’s something.” 

Andrew watched him with a weight that threatened to pluck him apart, and he couldn’t help the scoff at his own words. 

“Well, I’m someone with no family left,” he said. “You might not believe me, but that’s what I think.”

If Andrew was going to say anything in response, he didn’t get the chance. Allison headed back toward them, only pausing to prop her elbows by Neil’s window and leaning in. 

“Get in your stations,” she said. “We’re shooting now.” 

Neil hummed in agreement, and she slid into the backseat again. 

For a moment, everything was still as their crew adjusted the cameras, with Dan up ahead giving them their cues. 

But when Neil glanced back toward Andrew, he noticed he was drumming his fingers to the music again. 

Something inexplicably light fluttered in his chest at the sight.

\--

EXT. BEACH. LATE AFTERNOON. 2016.

Luna takes Ray by the hand and forces him to match her pace as she runs and spins on the beach. With her other hand, she takes Aidan’s wrist and does the same. After a moment of hesitation, he follows through with her motions, letting Luna, the oldest, take them back to carefree youth.

After they finish, they settle down by the water. They dig their feet into the sand, stare into the distance.

RAY

Luna, why are you leaving?

LUNA

Oh. I’m pitching a new show in a bit. I just was visiting while still in town. 

RAY

You’re still doing screenwriting?

LUNA

Of course. It’s my dream.

A pause…

LUNA

Where’ve you been?

RAY

Just here.

LUNA

No, not literally. Just - tell us everything. What have you been doing?

Ray traces his fingers through the sand, letting some of it slip through his fingers. Maybe it shows time passing too fast for him to count.

RAY

I had to move, you know. Didn’t know anyone else where I went. I only came to Cambria on the scholarship they gave me.

After a moment of hesitation, he looks at Aidan. 

RAY

I didn’t know you were there, Aidan.

It is an apology disguised in observation. It is everything Ray does not know how to say.

AIDAN

I didn’t either.

Apology accepted. Apology returned.

\--

There were no gray skies to be seen over the new beach. Instead, it was drenched in color, saturated with late afternoon gold. As far as Neil could see, the waters were drunk on light. Deep blue faded away into jade with the waves that stretched lazily over the sand.

Dan had called for a break to run over all their footage so far with Jeremy and a couple others, giving the rest of them time to themselves. Neil found himself drifting back over to the edge of the beach, to the point where sea foam ended and waters began.

He closed his eyes, let the warm wind envelope him. He breathed in, out, counted everything in motion.

(Muscle memory came back up empty).

This wasn’t the place he’d buried his mother, but for some reason, he could still feel her ghost. Something ugly reared its head inside of him. He didn’t know what to call it: it wasn’t anxiety, more of a misplaced guilt - that he could be somewhere so colorful, so warm, without her.

Tipping his head back, Neil looked up at the clouds drifting to and fro before the sun. 

((He swore, sometimes he was more exhausting to live with than gravity itself)).

Footsteps crunched in the sand behind him, but Neil didn’t move until he heard Andrew speak.

“Meditating?” 

“Thinking,” Neil said, distracted.

“Abysmal.” 

He was tempted to laugh again, but he resisted the urge. The new quiet swathed them both for a long moment. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” This time, Neil turned to meet Andrew’s gaze, but he wasn’t looking at him. His hazel eyes were trained on the horizon, soaking in the sun as he tucked his hands in his pockets. 

Glancing down at his own feet, Neil watched as the sea washed up farther that time, wrapping the soles of his shoes in melting foam and displaced sand. 

“I don’t like the beach. My mother always liked it - so I can’t anymore.” He wasn’t sure where it came from. But despite the murmurs of the crew behind him, his co-star at his side, and the seagulls crying viciously in the distance - to him, the sea would remain a graveyard.

“Are you uncomfortable here?” Andrew asked lowly.

Neil shrugged. “I’ll get used to it. It’s fine.” 

There was something fierce in Andrew’s eyes when he took a step closer, and Neil forced himself not to twitch under his power. 

“You know you don’t have to get used to anything,” he said. “If you want to make it here, you learn that they’re not going to make you do anything that might hurt.” 

“I’m not forcing myself to be here,” Neil insisted, though it didn’t look like Andrew believed him.

“Are you?” he challenged.

Neil opened his mouth with a comeback, but only came up blank. All at once, his breath seemed to leave his lungs in a defeated heave. Andrew took his silence and met it with another question that dove past forbidding waters and warning signs. 

“Why did you say yes to this?” 

The answer was too complicated to be explained away in simplicity. The answer was: to break one promise and remake another. The answer was: as much as he spent his days living between unknown coasts, there was some part of him that - for some reason - still _wanted_ this.

And the answer was: Neil had forgotten what it felt like to be believed in, on his own. 

Maybe Andrew could understand those answers, but even Neil couldn’t reconcile them yet. Not with the cold, heartless grief that kept holding onto his hand, not with the constant reminder of his own liabilities in the other. 

He cleared his throat, and opted for a different approach.

“Someone,” he said carefully, “thought I deserved a second chance.” 

(It was, in its own way, a truth - and it’d have to be strong enough to hold up everything else for the time being).

Andrew didn’t pry further, taking the small fragment of truth Neil offered him without asking for more. After a beat of silence, Neil turned toward him. 

“Earlier in the car, Allison called you ‘Monster,’” he said. “It can’t be just because you’re so good at acting. There’s another reason, isn’t there?” 

Raising an eyebrow, Andrew flatly said, “You look so concerned.” 

“I know monsters,” Neil murmured. “You aren’t one of them.” 

Oh, he knew them too closely. He knew that people were the true carriers of cruelty in the world. He’d lived with the worst of them - fathers who destroyed their mirror children, only to shove the bad luck back down their throats. _You deserve the poison_ , was the hissed excuse every time. 

“So faithful,” Andrew said, pausing for a moment. His fingers twitched, like muscle memory was calling for a cigarette. “I don’t make friends easily. I don’t give off good first impressions. I do what needs to be done to protect what’s mine, and I don’t give a fuck about the consequences.” He leveled Neil with a steady stare. “Some people call that monstrous.”

A dull form of anger lit within Neil’s ribs at the idea of it, as he registered Andrew’s words -

But it was an inevitable side effect of misunderstanding.

He remembered what Seth had said about tragedy. How only when it was attractive, was it loved.

Recovery had to be palatable and easily understood and simple for it to be deemed worthy. No, forget that healing could manifest in the ugliest ways. Forget that not everyone’s seasons aligned perfectly every single time.

Andrew seemed to sense his anger, because he lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “Renee told her the truth,” he said. “I didn’t care enough to do it myself.” 

“Still, it shouldn’t…” Neil trailed off, chewing on his lip. “They weren’t right to call you that. It shouldn’t have happened to you.” 

“Many things shouldn’t have happened to me. They still did, and I’m still here,” Andrew said after a long minute. “Allison does not know how to say sorry. Reusing it in her way - that’s how she apologizes.” 

Neil stared at the side of Andrew’s face, at the way the sea breeze ruffled his hair and softened his edges. 

“You don’t actually think of yourself that way, right?” he asked quietly.

It took another breath of quiet before Andrew said anything else. 

“I don’t anymore.” 

_Anymore._

It shouldn’t have, but something twisted harshly in him, imagining Andrew believing in something so false. He wondered how long the name had corrupted and festered inside him, if it, too, had moved in someplace he couldn’t find it, and had refused to leave for the longest time.

(But definitions changed and blurred).

((When they slipped away, stained-glass-light could return once more)).

“That’s good,” Neil murmured.

He distantly wondered if he’d be able to believe in his own definitions someday.

They stood there, almost shoulder to shoulder, for a while longer. The sunset began to dim, shadows flickering over the sand as clouds began rolling before the sun. Neil looked up to the sky, where gray was beginning to creep into view again.

Something fell down onto his nose. Neil touched his skin, his fingertips coming away damp. 

Slowly, one by one, more began to come. Tapping gently against his shoulders, sliding down his cheeks, floating in a dewy crown around his head. 

“Oh,” he breathed as Andrew squinted upwards. “It’s raining.”

Almost as if on cue, it started coming down harder. Neil couldn’t help the small smile that twitched at his lips, as he shielded his eyes from the droplets.

There weren’t quite any fires to put out.

But for a moment, the air in his lungs was the same as the air around him. Petrichor, sea salt, and a soft, strained melancholy.

\--

CUT TO -

Ray and Aidan are sitting, alone this time. They do not look at each other. It almost looks like they could be avoiding each other, except they physically cannot. After several seconds of quiet, Aidan shifts first and speaks.

AIDAN

How did you get so good at running? You always hated running.

RAY  
(smiling wistfully)

It was my only outlet. I didn’t really have a choice.

(pause)

I heard you’re trying to make the national team.

AIDAN

I kind of have to.

RAY

Why?

AIDAN

Our parents still think Luna’s the family disappointment, and I gave up on trying to convince them otherwise during high school. And...lacrosse is all I have now.

RAY

You love it until you have to, then you start hating it. Isn’t that how this all works? You can like something genuinely until you’re obligated to, and once you go there...the feeling can never change back. 

He does not mention that _something_ can also be _someone_. A child, a friend, a person like Ray. 

RAY

I hope you know better. Right?

Aidan does not answer Ray’s question. Even though they have been apart for seven years, there will always be some part of themselves that irreversibly knows the other.

AIDAN

Why didn’t you ever talk to me?

RAY  
(quiet, but not fully regretful)

I wanted us to stay the same. Without the obligation.

\--

Nicky kept complaining about having to clean their filming equipment as they somehow all managed to pile underneath hastily set-up tents to brave the rain. 

“It’s California. _California_! It doesn’t rain in California,” he said, wiping down one of the camera lenses. “The nerve. The audacity. The - Seth, help me out here.” 

“Insolence,” he said without looking up from his phone. 

“Oh, that’s good.” 

“Well, this certainly wasn’t what I was expecting for a beach shoot,” Jeremy joked as he checked on their mics. 

Dan and Allison were a few feet away, chatting with some of the other girls working on their crew. Neil knew the names of some of them: Laila, Sara, Marissa. Seth was on his phone at the foot of Dan’s chair, head tipped back against her leg as he kept throwing out more synonyms for Nicky to use while venting.

Andrew sat near the front, farther away from everyone else. Neil hesitated for only a moment before sitting down next to him, leaving space between them. Tucking his legs up to his chest, he watched the rain drown the sand just a few inches away.

It was a peaceful enough scene. The Foxes huddled together on an otherwise empty beach, and the air wasn’t chilly either - though Neil couldn’t tell if that was just from the warmth of their bodies so close together, or if it was because summer was just so stubborn, it refused to be washed away.

Some colors still drained through the thick clouds passing them by. Gray mixed strangely with gold, almost confusing. Yet, it was a little wonderful, maybe even comforting, to see how the color remained even when summer storms covered it up every once in a while.

Neil reached out with his hand, palm up. Wayward raindrops fell against his skin, pooling between ridges and scars, before slipping down his arm and plummeting to the sand. 

“I have another question,” he murmured. 

Andrew glanced at him. He’d somehow produced a lollipop out of nowhere and sucked on it slowly as he waited for Neil to continue. 

“Who’s the worst person you’ve ever worked with?” 

Shooting him an unamused look, Andrew chewed on the candy. “I don’t work with anyone I don’t want to.”

“Oh?” Neil raised his eyebrows, mimicking Andrew’s own mannerisms. “You’ve worked with me.” 

“Don’t be stupid.” 

“It was a bit hard to tell when you wouldn’t even talk to me off set,” Neil murmured. He shook the water off his hand and wiped it on his pants, sighing. “I’d ask why, but I don’t think you’d answer that.” 

Andrew didn’t have a rebuttal for him. Neil didn’t mind. The monster resting beneath his sternum was still, and he couldn’t help but reach up and rub at his chest in its peculiar absence.

He could hear the crunching of sand behind him, and looked over his shoulder to see Allison approaching him. There was a smirk on her face as she squatted down to his level. 

“It doesn’t look like we’ll be able to shoot anything for a while,” she said playfully.

“You’re probably right.”

“So, come in the rain with me?” 

Neil turned so he could look at her completely. “What?” 

Allison rolled her eyes but got to her feet, grabbing his wrist and dragging him up too. “Do you know how rare it is for something like this to happen, right here and right now?” she asked, smiling fiercely.

“Why me? Seth’s free,” Neil halfheartedly protested, though there wasn’t much he could do when Allison was already tugging him out from under the tent. Immediately, the rain enveloped him, plastering his hair against his forehead and rolling in tiny rivulets down his shoulders. 

“You look like you need it too.” Allison laughed freely as she tossed her hair back. “Live a little, Bambi.” 

“Bambi?” 

“Catty Bitch, Monster, and Bambi.” 

“You have strange taste in nicknames,” Neil said. It just made Allison grin harder. She didn’t say anything else, only threw out her arms and made a spin, tilting her face up toward the sky. Neil couldn’t move like she did, but the longer he stood there and watched her, the more he thought - 

Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

He cast a glance around the beach. It could’ve been a reincarnation of Mary’s cove: gray skies, drenched with rain. 

Except Allison was right next to him, dancing, Andrew was looking on from the tent, and Neil wasn’t alone this time. 

And, in some way, in some capacity - 

He was known. He wasn’t nameless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: neil meets a few more foxes, and has a heart-to-heart.
> 
> sorry about the delay ! hope you enjoyed, let me know what you think! :)


	6. mirror child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a couple foxes make a cameo appearance. neil reflects on a few things with coach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! just a quick announcement -
> 
> i will be starting school next week, and i'll probably be busy for a bit while i adjust and get used to academics again. so i'm going to be taking a little break from my wips, including this fic, at least until i get oriented with my schedule. i'll definitely be back! 
> 
> my tumblr is @hi-raethia if you want updates/wanna talk with me. anyways onto the chapter

EXT. TRACK FIELD. LATE AFTERNOON. 2016.

The starter pistol fires. Ray takes off sprinting alongside his other teammates. He seems to fly by the lines as he keeps speeding up, running like he is trying to escape himself. 

CUT TO -

INT. AN HOUSE. 2012. 

Ray, 15, in the middle of an argument with Yi Ping. He is both furious and devastated as his uncle continues to talk.

YI PING

What’s your use if you can’t even do the most basic things?

RAY

I just had school. I couldn’t go, I’m sorry!

YI PING

You’re an ungrateful child.

RAY

Stop.

YI PING

I took care of you all this time, and nothing. Even when I had to take you in, you didn’t listen.

RAY  
(exploding and yelling)

It’s not my fault she left!

Ringing silence. Yi Ping stares at Ray, disbelieving. Ray, breathing heavily, stays only a moment longer before storming out of the house. 

YI PING

Ray!

He slams the door and begins running. He tears across the sidewalk with a vengeance. He runs with no destination, because he knows there is nowhere else he can return to, but to his house that is not a home.

CUT BACK TO -

THE PRESENT.

Ray finishes the race in first place, panting as he catches his breath. The rest of the runners come in, greeted by wild cheers and pats on the back. A **TEAMMATE** approaches Ray.

TEAMMATE

Good job, Ray.

RAY

Thanks.

He looks toward the stands, not sure what he is searching for. But there is no one there for him. Not Yi Ping, who is working. The euphoria diminishes, and for a moment, his shoulders sag. He should not have expected anything more.

\--

“Cut!” Jeremy called. Neil slowed to a jog before stopping completely, blowing out one long breath as he stepped off the track. It was just him that time, since Andrew and Allison were somewhere else shooting their own scenes with Dan in charge.

After a couple minutes he went to sit down on the turf, closing his eyes for a moment. He only reopened them when he felt someone else settle down beside him. 

“Were you a marathon runner in a past life?” Seth asked, smirking when Neil gave him an unimpressed look. “We didn’t even have to fake your time.” 

“I just like to run,” he muttered, stretching out his legs. It was one of the only ways he could be free, after all - free to choose where to go, free to push himself as far as he wanted.

Seth watched him curiously. “That didn’t seem like ‘just liking,’” he commented, but he didn’t push it. Neil was almost ready to feel grateful for it, but Seth shoved his phone in his face and tapped the screen. 

“Make a username,” he said.

“Why,” Neil said flatly.

“You’ve procrastinated long enough. I’m setting up your accounts,” Seth said.

He tried for a glare but it didn’t work on Seth’s stubbornness. Reluctantly, Neil took his phone and wrote in his name and password. Once he was done, Seth took it back and began writing. Neil watched him as he worked, shrugging when Seth asked him if he wanted anything in particular for his bio. 

“Have at it,” he said, leaning forward and resting his chin on top of his knees. 

Seth scoffed. “Buddy, you have _no_ idea what I’m capable of.”

“You _are_ my PR manager,” Neil murmured, “so you can’t make me look bad.” 

“Smartass.” After another minute, Seth lifted the phone and flipped the camera so it was facing them. He nudged Neil with his elbow. “Here’s your first post. Look pretty.”

Neil didn’t pose, only looking on as Seth threw up a peace sign and stuck out his tongue. Then he slumped down onto his back, muttering to himself as he typed out a caption.

“Back on set and graced with the presence of the great Seth Gordon,” he mused. “How does that sound?” 

“I thought Nicky was supposed to run social media,” Neil said. 

Seth grunted. “He does, but he’s also busy enough right now.” 

“How did you become friends with him?” It was surprisingly easy for the questions to come, and Seth just hummed in amusement as he laid his phone down on his chest. 

“We get that a lot. Don’t seem very compatible, right?” Seth mused. “See, people can see me with Allison because her bitchiness rubs off on me, and she steals all my best comebacks. But it took a while for Nicky and I to warm up with each other. We kind of had to since Coach put us both in PR duty.” 

Neil looked down the track where Nicky was getting B-roll. His brows were furrowed in concentration as he held the camera easily over his shoulder. Seth followed his gaze. 

“Nicky taught me a lot,” he said, quieter that time. “He didn’t put up with my shit. Forced me to step out of my prejudices. I owe him a lot, actually.” Then he snorted. “Coach knows what he’s doing.” 

He hummed but didn’t answer. It was strange, hearing about people from others’ perspectives. Because Seth was dark where Nicky was bright. Seth was blunt sarcasm and honesty where Nicky was laughter and verbosity.

(But Neil figured every fox had their own set of claws and fangs).

((And they kept on fitting together, in the most unexpected of ways)).

Seth rolled onto his side, showing him the post he’d just made. “Any complaints, Josten?” 

He only gave it a cursory glance, nodding and looking away. Eventually, his break ended, and Jeremy called him back to shoot the next couple of scenes. 

After a few more hours, they managed to wrap up the shoot early. Jeremy insisted that Neil got more rest after having him run laps for the entire day, requests that Neil parried with an occasional, “I’m fine.” 

(It didn’t exactly matter - he rarely ever slept through an entire night anyway).

Not bothering to change out of his CSU jersey, Neil headed back toward their hotel just a few streets away. He was on his way through the lobby when he spotted a few people standing by the elevators. 

Neil recognized Wymack first. Smiling gruffly, he was standing next to another woman - upon second glance, he recognized her to be Abby. Beside her was Kevin Day, looking like he was fresh off a runway, with dark hair glossed back and sunglasses resting just above the queen piece tattoo marking his cheek. Matt Boyd stood beside him, mouth wide open mid-laugh as he slung his bag over his broad shoulder. 

Neil promptly turned around to find another way in, but it was too late. Wymack spotted him first. 

“Josten,” he said, waving him over. 

His chest tightened at the thought of talking to them. Neil shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing himself to breathe in once, before turning back around. 

Abby was the first one to greet him, smiling warmly as he approached them. “You must be Neil,” she said. “I’m Abby - though I’m sure Allison or Andrew have probably already introduced me.”

“Hello,” Neil murmured. 

“Kevin talks about you all the time,” she said. 

He glanced at the man in question. “You talk about me,” he repeated as Kevin stepped forward, taking off his sunglasses and tucking them into his collar. 

“I’ve been waiting to see when you’d finally join the Foxes.” Without the shades, his green eyes threatened to pierce Neil to the bone. “I’m just surprised you didn’t sign the contract sooner.”

Neil opened his mouth, but he was left wordless. In the silence, someone else stepped forward, slapping Kevin’s arm and earning an offended glare.

“God, is everything you do so dramatic?” Matt turned to Neil with a brilliant grin and an extended hand. “Hey, Neil. Don’t mind him, he’s just as excited to see you as I am.” 

Neil clasped Matt’s hand, schooling his face into something vaguely neutral as the man practically shook his entire arm. “It’s good to meet you two,” he said. 

“I think I’ve been watching your stuff since forever,” Matt said. “You’re such a great actor. We’re lucky to have you on the team. And _you_ are lucky to have my future wife as your director,” he added with a wink. 

He wasn’t sure of what to say, too numb with the shock of such A-list celebrities following him and even _talking_ about him. “Thanks,” he managed. 

“Alright, you two,” Wymack interrupted, stepping forward. He’d been observing quietly the entire time - Neil couldn’t tell what he was looking for. “Andrew should be finishing up his scenes by now, Kevin, if you want to find him. Matt, I’ll take you to Dan.” 

“Great. I’ll see you,” Kevin said. His face broke into a small smile when Wymack wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. Neil couldn’t help but stare at them.

They didn’t look too alike, but anyone with working eyes could tell that they were father and son. They had the same stance, the same mannerisms, the same smile. 

(It was almost surreal, seeing a mirror child with a proper reflection).

Tearing his gaze away, Neil slipped aside to leave. He was halfway to the staircase when he felt someone’s hand on his elbow. It was so sudden that he couldn’t hold back his flinch, even after the person let go of him. He turned around to meet Abby’s eyes - wide and, now that she wasn’t just a photo in a hallway, nearly the same exact shade as Mary Hatford’s. 

She tried for a smile, but Neil could tell his reaction had dampened it. 

“Neil, I just wanted to talk to you quickly,” she said softly. “My job - it gets really hard, seeing what people have done to my Foxes. I can only hope to help what still hurts and offer something better, from now on. David’s told me about you, and I know you can probably handle yourself on your own, but I want you to know that you don’t have to. I’m here to help in whatever way I can.” 

Neil looked past her to where Wymack and Matt were still standing. Wymack was already gazing at him with that same watchful expression, while Matt grinned and gave him a little wave. 

His heart felt ten times heavier when he forced himself to look back at Abby. His chest felt stuffed to the brim with an ache too big to be named. 

Deep brown, with occasional amber highlights. Aside from the hearty warmth in her irises, if Neil hadn’t looked twice, he could’ve seen his mother in Abby. Even her hair, dark and tucked up into a bun, seemed to hold Mary’s remnants. 

And it was entirely unfair - 

Because his mother was _dead_ and he couldn’t expect Abby to bring her back in any capacity. 

It wasn’t her fault that he could see a ghost in her. 

(There was one difference, though). 

_You know you don’t have to get used to anything_ , Andrew had told him with a quiet fierceness. _I know you can probably handle yourself on your own, but I want you to know that you don’t have to_ , Abby told him with an earnestness that knocked on hollow lungs.

 _You don’t have to you don’t have to you don’t have to_.

((His mother had never told him that)).

Mary’s kind of love had always been rough, picking up the broken pieces of glass and patching it all back together, even if the sharpness of her own movements pierced already bloodied skin too. 

Abby was softer. She was the kind of person that would take care of the mirror child before he even shattered.

It was all too much, and Neil’s skin crawled with the interaction. Still, he forced himself to nod politely, dipping his head and replying, “Thank you. I’ll remember that.” 

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something else, but Neil turned and left before she could. His elbow still burned with the memory of her touch, and it shouldn’t have hurt - 

But grief never listened.

\--

EXT. DORMITORIES. AFTERNOON. 2016.

Aidan is sitting on the stairsteps leading up to his dorms. He cradles his goalie stick in his lap, rolling it back and forth before fisting his hand through the strings. Luna watches him with her arms crossed.

LUNA

Aidan? Be honest with me.

AIDAN

What do you want?

LUNA

If you don’t make the Olympics -

AIDAN  
(stopping his movements)

Really?

LUNA

\- what will you do?

A long pause ensues. Aidan looks down at his stick. His grip around the strings tightens. He has spent so long staring at his goal head-on, that he does not know what he will do if something happens that he has not planned for. His lips twist like he is anxious.

AIDAN

I don’t know. I just have to get on the team.

Something almost sorrowful passes over Luna’s face. She sits down beside Aidan, her younger brother she practically raised.

LUNA

You actually like doing this, do you?

AIDAN

I do.

Neither of them can tell if that is the truth.

LUNA

I’m the family disappointment because Mom and Dad don’t understand that I do things because they fit me. Not for them, not for another guy, not for anyone else. 

I want you to be the same way, Ade. I don’t want you to lose your whole...whole life over this just because you think Mom and Dad need you to.

AIDAN

Whole life?

LUNA

The stupid sport isn’t everything you are. I just wish you could see that.

\--

Neil didn’t sleep much that night. He knew that if he let himself drift far enough, chances were, he’d dream of something right out of his memories - and those were always worse than his nightmares. 

Instead, he stayed awake to watch the moon crawl its way across a weary night. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of mothers or mirrors or mistakes. 

The morning didn’t come soon enough. His head ached dully as he stretched slowly, slipping out early to grab himself coffee. The burning drink singed him on the inside and jolted him awake as he headed down to Renee’s office.

She was already there, talking to someone else. Neil faltered when he recognized Andrew’s voice replying to her. 

He couldn’t make out what they were talking about - or maybe it was because he was tired. Downing the rest of the coffee, he crumpled the paper cup and tossed it away. Their conversation paused when he stepped up and knocked lightly on the door.

Renee looked up from where she was playing with Andrew’s hair, breaking into a warm smile when she spotted Neil.

“You’re early,” she said, gesturing for him to sit as Andrew glanced at him through the mirror. “When do you start shooting?”

“In a few hours.”

“You’re welcome to stay for a bit. It’s nice having more people in my office,” she said, before returning to carding her fingers through Andrew’s hair. He didn’t seem to mind, shoulders slumping just a fraction underneath her touch. 

“Thanks,” Neil muttered. He tucked himself into the chair, folding his knees up and letting his eyes fall shut for a moment. The coffee he drank wouldn’t let him fall asleep, but he appreciated the dark for a moment.

After a few minutes of silence, Renee resumed their conversation. Neil only caught bits and pieces of their words that floated around like colored dust motes. Renee would drop a hypothetical on one way the world could end in the distant future, and Andrew would refute it with an idea of his own. Occasionally threading in between was some shit-talking on a few actors from other agencies that Neil didn’t recognize or remember. There was something else about a dinner Wymack was planning on having all the Foxes over for. 

Neil didn’t question their topics of choice, only letting the sounds of their voices lull him into some semblance of stillness. He was a particular brand of exhausted that day, even more so than usual, weighed down by the kind of restlessness he couldn’t quite shake off. If Renee and Andrew’s voices blending together - the soft and the low - were what talked him down, then he was too tired to think anything of it.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Renee said his name. 

“Neil?” 

Cracking one eye open, he met her calm gaze. No words came to his mouth as she continued, “Are you alright?” 

“Fine,” he said, sitting up. 

“I’m just going to go and grab my supplies,” Renee said. “Then I’ll help you with your makeup, okay?” 

Neil nodded, and she shot him a small smile. She hopped down from where she was sitting on the countertop and headed out, shutting the door with a soft click. Andrew ran a hand through his hair, now ruffled after Renee had played with it for so long. 

“Staring,” he said after a long moment. 

Neil hadn’t even realized he’d been looking. 

“Sorry,” he murmured. But he didn’t turn away.

Andrew gazed at him for a few seconds longer. “Did you not sleep?” he asked.

Reaching up, Neil brushed his fingers beneath his eyes. “Is it obvious?” It wasn’t a particularly amusing quip, judging by Andrew’s silence. He shrugged and said, “It happens sometimes. I’ll just nap later.”

He turned in his chair so he could face Andrew properly. “I met your other brother yesterday,” he said.

Raising an eyebrow coolly, Andrew repeated, “Other brother.”

“Mm. Kevin. It’s what Allison called you guys: brothers,” Neil murmured. “Is that right?”

A long pause stretched between them. The lights above Andrew’s vanity buzzed quietly. 

“Kevin is family.” He met Neil’s gaze steadily. “Him, Coach, and Abby too.”

“Oh.” Neil crossed his arms, hastily shoved aside the memory of Abby’s words and momentary touch from yesterday. He tucked into a box to (never) open on his own time. 

There was definitely a story behind Andrew’s truth just then, but Neil didn’t ask for it. Andrew could tell him on his own time, he figured, if he even wanted to at all.

Neil just felt glad, in the faintest way, that some of them still found homes in others’ ribs and hearts. That those homes had not been emptied out by now, that those homes still hummed and glowed with life - even if he wasn’t sure he’d be able to step inside for long.

Instead, he asked, “Andrew?”

“What.” 

“Are you just humoring me with this - this truth for truth thing?” Neil fixed his gaze on his own hands, tracing and retracing old scars. “If you want to stop, we can.” 

It took a minute before Andrew said anything else. 

“Don’t be an idiot.”

His head jerked up at the bluntness of the statement, but Andrew was already looking at him. “Sorry?”

“Maybe,” Andrew said slowly, “I’ve realized you are much more interesting when you actually talk.”

A tentative smile began to twitch at Neil’s lips as his words sunk in. He pressed his hand to his mouth, hiding it. Something seemed to flicker in Andrew’s eyes, too, but Neil couldn’t place what it was. 

“Except when you look at me like that,” he said lowly.

“Like what? I’m just practicing.” Neil couldn’t read Andrew’s expression just then, but he felt okay enough to add, “You’ve given me a lot of truths. You can ask me now.” 

“I’ll wait,” was all Andrew said - a tiny promise. _Later_.

“Okay.” Neil closed his eyes again, sighing softly.

Eventually, Renee returned with her kit. She sat down in front of Neil, held his chin lightly with one hand as she began to touch up his scars once again. 

“How about I tell another story?” she said quietly, patting the brush over his skin. “Maybe the first time Andrew beat me at sparring. Or all the other times I beat him.”

“Renee, are you setting me up?” She laughed at Andrew’s response, and Neil didn’t say anything else. He let the notes and tones of their voices wash over him again, a morning tide lulling the sea into wakefulness.

\--

EXT. TRACK FIELD. NIGHT. 2016.

Ray walks alone down to the stadium where, just hours earlier, it was filled with eager crowds and cheers. The lights are all out. He is all alone. Eventually he heads down to the center of the field and lies down, staying there for a long time. 

He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. It shakes on the way out. He is unbearably lonely tonight, but he looks up at the stars as if he is seeking solace.

CUT TO - 

EXT. SIDEWALK BY OLD AN HOUSE. NIGHT. 2009.

Ray is standing outside his old home. Yi Ping is standing behind him in the background, but he is not the focus. In front of Ray is **AN YI HUA** , his mother. She kneels down to eye-level, cupping his cheeks with her hands. 

RAY  
(in a trembling tone)

Why can’t I go with you?

YI HUA

You need to stay in school and study. You have to do well, Ray. Are you listening to me?

RAY

I can do well with you.

A tear comes down Yi Hua’s cheek. She shakes her head. She knows she is destroying innocence like this.

YI HUA

Your uncle will take good care of you. I promise. I’ll come back, alright? This is just temporary.

CUT BACK TO -

THE PRESENT.

Yi Hua has not returned. Ray is alone in a field watching the stars. 

\--

Neil managed to finish the day off without major disasters or excessive retakes, which was a win. As the crew cleaned up for the day, he climbed up the bleachers, settling down on the cooling benches and tugging a jacket around himself. 

The set looked entirely different at night. Darkness spilled into every corner of the stadium save for their lights, but it wasn’t the suffocating kind. He could still hear the tossing and turning of the ocean in the distance, a constancy as the world slowed down.

He glanced down and began flipping through his script, some of the pages already folded and creased from how many times he’d looked over them. Neil read through the lines until he heard someone else coming up the bleachers. 

“Hey, kid.” Wymack sat down beside him, keeping about a foot of distance between them. Neil tucked away his script, nodding his greeting. “How are you adjusting?” 

“I’m fine,” was his automatic response, but Wymack looked less than happy with it. 

“None of them giving you any trouble?” 

“No, they’re good.” Neil pressed his hands together, twisting his fingers slightly. “You don’t need to worry.” 

That was the truth, at least. Ever since he first came, the Foxes had never mistreated him.

Wymack raised his eyebrows. It was dark enough that Neil couldn’t quite make out his expression, but he didn’t sound angry when he spoke again. 

“I wanted to talk to you about setting up an appointment with Bee. Just to check in, no pressure,” he added when Neil tensed. “Allison and Seth told you I have all of you guys do a mandatory check-in, but you guys have the freedom to choose when.”

“I don’t - ” Cutting himself off, he cleared his throat. “It would be a waste of her time.” 

“Bee thinks otherwise.”

“I don’t do therapy,” Neil said. Maybe it was a combination of his trust issues growing up and all the poison his father had fed him about speaking up - but the mere thought of sitting down with someone and regurgitating his problems for an hour made his skin crawl.

Wymack regarded him with the same careful tiredness Neil had heard on the phone, when they first spoke. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Just sit there if it makes you feel better - it’s just protocol here. She has an opening next Wednesday, and Andrew’s going to be meeting with her too. Can that work?” 

He dug his nails into his knuckles, before letting go. There was no part of Neil that wanted to go - but Wymack was already being merciful enough as it was, giving him a convenient way out. 

(And he wasn’t too willing to risk angering the older man).

“Okay. Sure,” he said quietly. 

“Thanks, Josten.” Wymack rested his elbows against his knees as he looked out across the field. He was quiet for a long moment while Neil fiddled with the edges of his script.

Eventually, the silence grew heavy. Neil inhaled deeply, blowing out the breath as discreetly as he could. The words welled up gradually, pressing against him and knocking against his sternum insistently. He wanted to reach inside and tear them out - but Wymack was right there, and he couldn’t just do nothing. 

“Thank you,” he finally said after an endless minute. “For letting me be here, despite - ” Waving his hand like it would magically fill in the blanks, he muttered, “Despite everything that happened. I figured you wouldn’t call me back after I rejected Dan.” 

He could feel Wymack’s gaze on him, too old and too understanding. 

“Kid, it’s not about your past,” he said, sawing off the gruffness in his voice for something lighter. “It’s hard when it’s all that everyone sees when they look at you, and Lord knows I’ve had my share of getting boxed up. But you weren’t made by what happened to you. It’s not everything you are.” 

“It’s different for me,” Neil muttered. 

“How so?” 

The night outside was far more forgiving than the midnight haunting his home, and the latter cut open old wounds and let the blackness spill forth. 

“People look at me and only see my father.” 

Because Neil was the mirror child, had always been. A picture perfect reflection of Nathan Wesninski.

And his father had broken him, shattered him, cut him down even further with the shards of glass he rained down with every word, every insult, every scar. 

Neil supposed the bad luck had gotten to him in the end, with a life sentence in prison.

But it had been five years, and Neil wasn’t much better. He was just as lost in his own sea, with no way out.

(He wondered if he was serving his own sentence).

Wymack didn’t give him any pitying looks or comments on his words. He just sighed, resting his hands loosely in his lap. 

“You’re not special. You’re no exception,” he said. “You don’t get to pass on your own recovery just because you look like that bastard.” 

When Neil just looked away, he continued, “Of course it’s easier said than done. It took me a damn long time, but there’s no minimum or maximum amount of time needed before you start getting better. That’s why I founded this agency, to help others get on their way, on their own time. I’m not saying we’ll be able to magically fix everything, because that’s not how this works. But if we just make it a little easier, then it’s worth it to me.”

Lips twisting with self-deprecation, Neil murmured, “I guess I’m a late bloomer.” 

Wymack let out a soft huff of laughter. “I might not be involved much in the actual productions, but I’ve practically raised these people. And I’m always open to take someone else in. I don’t care how late they are.” 

It was too easy and open of an offer, an uphill battle disguised in casual words.

But Wymack had a way of igniting that treacherous, emergent hope that always hid around the corner. 

They sat there until everyone else finally finished cleaning up, and Wymack left him with a nod and aborted pat on the back. Neil stayed there for a while longer, clutching the script tightly as he counted each breath he took.

His worst secrets marked his skin, and Neil always turned out the lights before anyone could see them. His myriad of issues dug into him so deeply they scraped and scarred bones, and Neil always locked the door before shutting down for the night. 

Yet - 

Broken mirrors distorted their reflections, he supposed. 

And around the Foxes, he couldn’t help but feel maybe he could leave a window or two open. 

Grief hated guests. Grief wanted to be alone. Grief wanted him only.

But as long as Neil was with the Foxes, he supposed it would have to tolerate their afternoon light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: a gathering at wymack's place.

**Author's Note:**

> yesss that's right another au!!! i've wanted to write an acting au for a while so i'm super excited to share this with yall!! there's gonna be a lot of healing, a lot of acting, a lot of Fun, a lot of angst - a whole buffet. get ready!!
> 
> comments and kudos keep me going and let me kno you like this!! <3 so excited to get on with this. lets fuckin go!!
> 
> check out the [unhappier than most soundtrack on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5UL4ZKjCNEUsz4JiEfdZKT?si=XjczSi2FSYaZftsZ29BCuw)!!


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